


long story short

by Lululemonee



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Man Jughead, Betty Cooper Loves Jughead Jones, Cheating, Jughead Jones & Reggie Mantle Friendship, Multi, Reggie Mantle is a Good Friend, Strangers to Lovers, Weddings, author jughead, betty married the wrong guy, bughead - Freeform, jughead is the better man, soft Jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:53:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lululemonee/pseuds/Lululemonee
Summary: Betty Cooper married young. Probably too young. Her life has not turned out even remotely the way that she had thought that it would. But all that is about to change...long story short, it was the wrong guy
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 42
Kudos: 72





	1. long story short

**Author's Note:**

> So...this was going to be a one-shot...but I just kept writing! And it turned into an absolute BEAST! So now it's a two parter! I will post the second part in a few days...I feel like we're gonna need some bugheady goodness by then! I've been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift and it has kind of inspired me! This first chapter fits with "long story short" Give is a listen. You know you want to. 
> 
> Also, this is unbeta'd. There are probably mistakes.

And I fell from the pedestal

Right down the rabbit hole

long story short, it was a bad time

Pushed from the precipice

Clung to the nearest lips

long story short, it was the wrong guy

Now I'm all about you

I'm all about you, ah

Yeah, yeah

I'm all about you, ah

She’d been nineteen when she’d married. Nineteen and young and optimistic and in love and…dumb as a freaking post.

He’d been her next-door neighbor, high school sweetheart, and captain of the football team. She’d been the perky blonde cheerleader, editor of the school paper AND yearbook, and the doe-eyed homecoming queen. Their coupling had seemed like destiny and fate wrapped in bubblegum, dipped in sugar with a cherry on top.

He had been her first and only…everything. First kiss. First crush. First boyfriend. First love. First heartbreak. First second chance. First time.

Everything that she had experienced, she’d experienced with him.

In her mind, that was idyllic. In her mind, that was the ultimate fairytale.

Dumb. As. A. Post. 

The wedding itself had been a dream; every little girl’s fantasy. There had been blood red roses and baby’s breath, a four-tiered cake slathered in decorous buttercream, miles upon miles of white silk and chiffon. Her mother and sister had cried, her father had walked her down the aisle, her brother had flown in from Virginia. There was laughter, dancing, and free flowing champagne. It was like the climactic final scene from some romantic comedy.

However, unlike the rom-com, the credits didn’t roll after the ceremony. That happy day had not been the end of the story – not even remotely.

Unbeknownst to the wedding guests that numbered almost one-hundred and fifty that day, the day Elizabeth Cooper married her childhood sweetheart, Archibald Andrews, had been the last truly happy day that she could remember.

It had started small, but big if that made sense.

He’d asked for a favor.

Defer her collegiate studies for a year. It really wasn’t much to ask in the grand scheme of things. His father, the best man that Betty had ever known, including her own father whom she loved dearly, had passed away the previous year – their senior year of high school. Archie had been devastated. Everyone had been. Fred Andrews had been a bright light in the dark, a saint amongst men. His death, a random tragic car accident, had shaken the entire town of Riverdale to its core. He’d left behind a struggling construction company that Archie’s mother, Mary had entrusted to her brother-in-law, Frank to run until Archie graduated and decided what he wanted to do with it.

When the time came, Archie had decided not to sell the company. Instead, he had grand visions of himself stepping into his father’s shoes, returning the company to its former splendor, and becoming the new beloved Andrews of Riverdale.

The problem with this particular daydream was that while Fred Andrews had been a kind, generous, and giving soul – Archie Andrews was inherently a selfish creature.

He asked Betty to put off school for one year to help his reestablish Andrews Construction. He needed her. He asked if she would come and keep the books for him. After all, she had such a better head for numbers than he did.

Of course, Betty said yes. He was he husband. It was their duty to support each other. She could delay her own ambitions for one short year in order to assist him in realizing his.

Love required a little bit of compromise; sacrifice.

And so, she became the accounting department for Andrews Construction. She balanced the books, made sure money came in, made sure bills and employees were paid up, ensured regulations were followed and everything was up to code, monitored contract deadlines, and handled the new hire paperwork. To top all of this off, she was Archie’s trick pony. He wheeled her out anytime he had difficulty landing a contract – which was often – and her innate charisma, charm, and intelligence more often than not won over the prospective client.

One year became two, then three, then six.

And over the course of those years, Archie came to resent the fact that his wife was better and more adept at running his company than he would ever be.

So it was, that at twenty-five years old, rather than the journalist trekking through foreign countries in khaki shorts and a camera draped around her neck that she had dreamt of being since she was a young girl, Betty found herself clad in snug pencil skirt, a too tight bun at the back of her head, and a pair of sleek reading glasses perched on her nose holed up in a dirty office trailer while she read over quarterly profit and loss reports.

“You know,” a warm, breathy voice cooed from the doorway and drew a smile to Betty’s lips, “those glasses make you look like the sexy librarian from a few of my naughtier fantasies.”

“Better not let your fiancé hear you say that.”

“Are you kidding?” Veronica laughed as she stepped in and let the door close behind her, “Reg would think he’d won the lottery!”

The elegant brunette teetered over to Betty’s desk on her five inch stilettos and offered a paper bag and go cup of coffee, “Skinny vanilla soy latte and a delectable chocolate croissant. You’re welcome.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Betty pretended to protest but she was already ripping into the flaky, buttery pastry and cramming pieces into her mouth.

Veronica laughed, “Yes, you should.”

“If you insist,” Betty laughed around a full mouth, shoved another bite in, and licked a smudge of melted chocolate from her fingertip.

With an enviable grace that Betty did not think she’d ever possessed, Veronica folded herself into one of the godawful green clothed chairs that sat opposite Betty’s desk. She plucked at non-existent lint from her skirt and checked her fingernails. Betty waited patiently. She knew her friend better than she knew her own self.

“Sooo…” Veronica started slowly as Betty had known she would, “as you know, my engagement party is this Friday…and I need to know how early you can get there to start drinking champagne with me.”

Betty chuckled and washed a bit of croissant down with a swig of the delicious coffee that Veronica purchased from the gourmet bakery. Veronica spoiled her. There was no ifs, ands, or buts about it. From the moment they had met in the seventh grade, Veronica had decided that Betty was going to be her best friend. From that day forward, she wouldn’t hear a bad word spoken against her. In the eighth grade, when Chuck Clayton had lifted Betty’s skirt during a break to show her wholesome white cotton panties to half of the football team, including Archie, it had been Veronica and not Betty’s own boyfriend, who had stormed over to the brute and belted him in the mouth with a balled-up fist. She loved fiercely and her loyalty knew no bounds. Betty wasn’t sure what she had done to deserve such a friend, but she was thankful and tried to never take it for granted.

Lord help anyone who tried to come between B and V.

“Won’t we be drinking enough at the party itself?” Betty asked her friend, “Do we really need to pregame?”

Veronica took a deep breath, averted her gaze to the side, uncrossed and recrossed her shapely legs, fidgeted with her hands, and picked at her nails again – all very un-Veronica-like actions.

“V?” Betty said, her concern bubbling up, “What’s up?”

Another deep breath and then her large, dark, almond shaped eyes rose to meet Betty’s, “Reggie’s dad will be there.”

“Ah,” Betty said, everything made sense immediately.

“I’m going to need to be sufficiently in my cups if I want to avoid jailtime for stabbing him in his stupid head with my favorite gold-plated ice pick.”

Reggie Mantle’s father, Marty and Veronica did not get along. She’d disliked him ever since senior year when Reggie had shown up to school with bruises that he refused to explain. Then, apparently, the creep had tried to cop a feel on Veronica at a family holiday dinner…to which Veronica with all the subtlety of a jackhammer had called him out for in front of everyone and then tossed her drink in his face. Reggie had then slugged him for touching her…again in front of everyone. The man and Veronica had openly hated each other ever since.

In direct contrast, Reggie’s mother Vicky _loved_ Veronica; thought she hung the goddam moon.

The elder Mantle marriage was a strange kind of thing from a by-gone era. They seemed to tolerate each other’s existence while simultaneously enduring a mutual loathing. They had also never even considered divorce.

Betty didn’t like to ponder on it too much lest she start to see the similarities to her own unhappy relationship.

“Ok, V, calm down. What time does it officially start? Seven, right?”

Veronica nodded, her chin quivered and Betty thought for one terrible moment that she might cry. A crying Veronica was a heartbreaking sight to behold and Betty had made it her life’s mission to make sure that it happened as little as possible.

“I’ll be there by five-thirty.”

She was rewarded by a white grin, “You know you’re a goddess, right? Too precious even for this world and _far_ too good for you troglodyte husband.”

“Don’t start.”

“That’s all I’ll say on the matter,” Veronica surrendered, then added, “for now.”

Betty chuckled and shook her head. Some things would never change. In Veronica’s opinion, Archie did not deserve Betty. In Veronica’s opinion, no body deserved Betty. She had once stated that if she could only convince Betty to try a woman, she’d happily leave Reggie and the two of them would have been quite happy together.

“Don’t leave, yet,” Betty said, “Keep me company while I finish my coffee.”

“Of course, my love.”

“So,” Betty said and leaned back in her chair, eliciting a loud _squeak_ as she did so, “how are things otherwise?”

“Oh, they’re fine. They’re good. A bunch of Reggie’s groomsmen got into town last night for the party and pre-wedding festivities. A bunch of jocks from his college days.”

Betty scrunched up her nose, “How’s that going?”

Veronica’s laughter was musical, “Honestly, not as bad as I was expecting. They’re all super sweet and keep asking what they can do to help out around the house.”

That aroused more than a little of Betty’s mirth, “That sounds a little like your longtime fantasy, Ronnie. A group of big, strong guys completely at your beck and call, ready and willing to do your bidding, to bow to your every whim.”

Veronica grinned like a shark, “I mean, I don’t hate it.”

“Of course, you don’t!”

“You should come over before Saturday and enjoy some of the perks! A small arm of gorgeous men at your disposal! It’s a power trip. There’s something very invigorating about it.”

“Maybe it’s invigorating because you have slight tendencies toward control issues,” Betty said with an apologetic smile to soften the blow of her words.

The blow did not require any softening. Veronica Lodge knew exactly who Veronica Lodge was deep down. Her Cheshire grin only grew. “Don’t insult me, B!” she chimed, “Tendencies? Please! I’m a total control freak!”

“Betty’s laughter at the very Veronica response was full bodied and warm. It was something that Veronica heard far too seldom.

“Well,” Betty went on, “at least you’re self-aware.”

“Oh, entirely.”

“And as much as I would love to come lounge at yours and play handmaiden to your Cleopatra, accounts receivables must wait for no man…or woman.”

“Here’s a revolutionary idea!” Veronica exclaimed, “Hire a fucking accountant!”

Betty started to open her mouth to response but Veronica silenced her with a raised finger.

“I know you’re in the black now. There is no reason for _you_ to still be handling all of this.”

Betty pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, “Veronica…can we not?”

“No!” Veronica stated, “you have put your own life on hold for six goddam years and-”

She was cut off by the abrupt _bang_ of the trailer door as it slammed open and Archie exploded into the office, “Betty, I need copies of the contacts for – oh, hey, Veronica.”

On a world-weary sigh, Veronica stood from her chair, cast a death glare at her friend’s husband whom she had long ago declared her open disapproval of, “Hello, Archibald. I was just leaving. Goodbye, sweet B. I’ll see you both on Friday.”

And with that, she swept from the trailer; left only the scent of Chanel #5 in her wake.

“Friday?” Archie asked a moment after her departure.

Betty had only given him this information a dozen and half times, “Her engagement party.”

“Oh, right,” he muttered, “I have to go to that, too?”

It was in those moments, moments of his blatant disregard for anything that was important specifically to her, that Betty truly felt dislike for her husband. Veronica had been Betty’s best friend since middle school. Archie had been friends with her as well to an extent. Even if they hadn’t been, she had been a part of his life – if only through Betty – for more than a decade. He’d known Veronica just as long as Betty if not just as well and he was trying to get out of attending her engagement party.

“You know what, Archie,” Betty snapped, her tone leaked with bitchery and she couldn’t bring herself to give a damn, “we’re not going to have this discussion here. We’ll talk about it at home. What contracts did you come barging in her for?”

The rest of the week had been riddled with unresolved tension to put it mildly. When Archie had arrived home that night, their ‘discussion’ of Veronica’s party had rapidly devolved into a screaming match and Betty had sequestered herself in the guest bedroom rather than share a bed with the man she’d married. The situation had not improved as the week had progressed.

They drove to work separately, ate dinner together in uncomfortable silence, and only spoke to each other in terse sentences that consisted of as few words as they could possibly manage.

Betty couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment in time where Archie had stopped being her companion and become a person whose presence she tolerated because she had to. Perhaps it had been a slow boil that had begun with his father’s death and had been steadily and increasingly destroying any affection that they’d once had for each other over the years.

She’d heard divorcees say that over the years, their significant others had become like strangers to them. That wasn’t how Betty felt about Archie. He wasn’t a stranger to her. He was all too familiar.

Maybe it would have been better had she felt she didn’t know him anymore. Maybe there could be a mystery there. New information to salvage and bring them back together.

As it were, she could predict what he would say before he said it, understood how his thought process would flow, knew that his selfishness went deep into the core of his being.

So, when Friday rolled around and she watched through the window as he loaded a cooler filled with beer and his fishing gear into his truck, it wasn’t anger that she felt, but an all-encompassing indifference. She honestly could not bring herself to care.

Instead, she let the emotional numbness that had become her life settle over her and went about the house to do her weekend chores. She’d taken the day off specifically for that purpose, upon hearing of which, Archie had decided he’d take Friday off as well. Betty had errands to run for Veronica the following day and wouldn’t be ablet to attend to her usual weekend routine. Archie just wanted an excuse to not go to work. She vacuumed and put a load of dirty laundry into the wash. She pulled over wedding rings, dropped them in the soap dish by the sink, donned her yellow cleaning gloves and did the dishes from breakfast, and wiped down the countered with disinfectant. She feather dusted the decorative shelves and ceiling fan in the living room and fluffed the sofa cushions. Weekend days were the days that she felt the most like her mother. All she needed was strand of pearls and an apron.

And she hated it.

On a frustrated huff of air, she snatched up her cell-phone and dialed.

“Hey V!” she greeted, “I know I said I’d be over at five thirty, but can I come over now?”

A delighted squeal was her answer.

When Betty walked into Veronica’s apartment without knocking because after some fifteen years of friendship, knocking was a superfluous gesture that had been rendered unnecessary, she discovered her dearest friend in true Veronica Lodge form.

Veronica stood in the center of her decadent living room, hip jutted out with one hand perched atop it while the other pointed a delicate finger toward a corner of the room. Two rather well-muscled fellows that Betty had never before seen struggled beneath the weight of a heavy looking wooden bar and maneuvered their way in the direction that Veronica was pointing. When her gaze landed on Betty, her face lit up.

Betty felt instantly better. Veronica Lodge love was a fierce love. Betty never once doubted that Veronica was genuinely delighted at her presence. She’d move Betty into her apartment with her if should could get away with it.

“Betty, my love,” Veronica exclaimed, walked over, grabbed Betty by the hand, and dragged her back with her to the center of the room, “thank Gog you’re here! Do you think the far corner is the appropriate placement for the bar top? Is it accessible enough? It needs to be easy to get to, but it can’t obstruct the flow of the room in any way? What do you think?” 

The two men paused their movements and looked to the two women, waited for instruction. Betty could see the beads of sweat that ran down their faces. She realized this was likely not the first time that they had relocated this particular piece of furniture. Lord knew how many difference parts of the room Veronica had had them lug that awkward, heavy monstrosity to. She offered them a sympathetic smile and turned to her best friend, “I think that corner is perfect, V.”

Veronica clapped her hands and bounced up and down with the childlike glee that only she was capable of, “I know, right!”

Once the young men, their shoulders sagged in relief, had set the bar down in the designated corner, Veronica looped her arm through Betty’s and drew her a few steps nearer to them.

“Boys, this is my very dearest friend in all the world, Betty. Betty, lovely, this is Moose Mason and Munroe Moore.”

“Mad Dog,” the dark eyes, coffee skinned Adonis corrected as he offered his hand to Betty.

To which Veronica immediately countered, “Munroe.”

Munroe let out a long-suffering sigh, “Miss Veronica, you call Moose, Moose. You call Jug, Jug. You have no problem calling anyone else by their chose moniker.”

“Jughead doesn’t have your lovely manners,” Veronica soothed.

The compliment caused the ferocious looking Munroe to smile a bashful, boyish smile and shuffle back and forth on his feet like an adolescent with a crush. It was one of the most endearing sights Betty had ever seen.

Then Veronica turned her attentions to the other male, “And your manners are delightful as well, Moose, but I refuse to call anyone by the name Marmaduke. No offense.”

“No, I get it,” he replied with a nod, “what else can we do for you, Miss Veronica?”

Betty felt slightly in awe of the phrasing of the question. What a precious pair of creatures! No “do you need,” not “is there anything else,” but “what else.” As though helping Veronica get the apartment ready wasn’t an inconvenience to them. Even after they had moved that huge bar around the room for what Betty assumed was several times, they were both ready to do more, anything she needed, without complaint.

Betty didn’t know men like that really existed in the world.

“No, boys, thank you! I’m going to get my sweet B here a beverage and have some much needed girl time. When are Reggie and Jug due back?”

Moose and Munroe shared a look, communicated silently, came a conclusion, and Munroe answered for the pair. It was adorable. “I think another hour or so.”

“Perfecto!” Veronica chirped, “We’ll be out by the pool. Let Smithers know it you need anything!” 

As it was with the unexplainable magic that was Veronica Lodge, she knew exactly what Betty needed in that moment. The two women spent a good portion of the day by the rooftop pool of The Pembrooke. They drank mimosas, they stretched out under the warm sun like lazy cats, and Betty pretended that none of her real-life problems existed – if only for the afternoon. They finally wandered back to the apartment a little before 5pm, slightly tipsy, to shower and get dressed for evening’s party.

There was a light tap at Veronica’s bedroom door as the two giggled like high school girls getting ready for the homecoming dance. This – this was something that _Betty_ knew that _Veronica_ needed. The wedding plans stressed her more than she would ever admit to anyone, but Betty knew how to read the signs. Veronica needed a little carefree immature frivolity in the same way that Betty needed to step away from the mundane drudgery of her own life. They found that together. They were one another’s outlet.

Betty stumbled to the door swathed in one of Veronica’s plush terrycloth robes. Smithers waited on the other side with a warm smile at the ready. 

“Hello, Miss Betty, so lovely to see you,” he said as he entered the room to set down a silver tray laden with tea sandwiches and a fresh pitcher of mimosa, “Miss Veronica, Mr. Reginald has returned.”

“Wonderful! Is he dressing in the guest room?” Veronica asked and poured Betty a new glass.

Smithers nodded, “Yes, ma’am. He asked that I assure you that he will make certain that Mr. Forsythe is properly attired and on his best behavior.” It was said with a twinkle of mirth in the older man’s eye and Veronica laughed loudly from deep in her belly.

“I’m sure Jughead loved hearing that!”

Smithers grinned, “I believe his exact response was a crude hand gesture that I will not replicated for you, madam.”

Veronica smiled around a sip of her bubbly drink, “Sounds about right.”

Once Smithers had departed, curiosity got the better of Betty and she turned to her friend, “Okay, who if this Jughead you keep bringing up?”

“He’s Reggie’s best man. A pair of unlikelier friends never existed but they would literally kill for each other. It’s very sweet.”

Party guests started to arrive promptly at seven that evening. At about fifteen past the hour, Betty slipped from the bedroom to merge and mingle amongst the guests so that Veronica could make a glorious solo entrance. Sure enough, less that five minutes after Betty had positioned herself near the hors d’oeuvres for the best possible view (for a Veronica Lodge entrance was truly a sight to behold) the double doors to Veronica’s room swung open with gusto and the petite brunette sauntered into the room clad in a dark purple, skin tight, strapless number and sky-high heels. She flung her arms out wide as though she would hug every single one of the two-hundred odd guests, her smile wide and bright, “Welcome to our home everyone!”

Betty chuckled into her glass of champagne at the same time she heard a deep, appealing voice beside her mutter, “Oh, dear God.”

Like a magnet drawn north, she turned toward the voice. At her side in a well-tailored black on black suit stood a dark haired, green eyed man she’d never laid eyes on before – and what a pity that was. He was beautiful. A smattering a beauty marks adorned his cheeks, his dark hair was unruly and tasseled as thought he’d been running his hands through it for a while, and his body was long and lean beneath that well-cut suit. He caught her looking at him and Betty arched a single eyebrow at his ‘dear god’ comment. He immediately looked down at the amber liquid in his rocks glass, scotch if Betty were to hazard a guess, and a light blush painted his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “it’s just – well, there is no one else in the world quite like Veronica Lodge.”

Betty smiled at that, waited for him to look at her again, held his gaze over the rim of her champagne saucer, “Do you really think the world could handle more than one?”

His shy little smile turned into a full-fledged grin and he angled his entire body to face hers, fully engaged. Betty had to stamp down the squeal of joy that threatened to bubble up at the fact that she had this attractive stranger’s full attention.

“Touche’,” he said simply, then leaned a little toward her, a conspiratorial glint in his pretty green eyes, “I’ll tell you a secret, but you can’t repeat it.”

“Oh, my lips are sealed,” she whispered back and leaned in as well.

His smile lit his entire face and Betty’s breath hitched in her suddenly tight chest at the wonderous beauty of him.

“I fuckin’ adore her,” he confided, “she’s funny and smart and loyal. I fully believe she could kick my ass. I’ve _seen_ her kick Reggie’s ass and he needs that every one in a while, you know.”

Betty leaned back and let her laughter roll out of her entire body, enjoyed the wave of it, enjoyed the way that this man looked at her when she did so.

“Yeah,” she said through the laugh, “she has that effect on people.”

She took another sip of her champagne, basked in the warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach. She felt bubbly and light, much like the drink itself. She looked up at her companion from beneath her lashes, “So, how do you know Reggie?”

“I’m actually his best man,” he offered her his hand to shake and she became oh-so-slightly distracted by his long, slender, lovely fingers, “Jughead Jones at your service.” 

Betty giggled again and before her brain could catch up to her mouth, she blurted, “Oh, I’m your date!”

His eyes widened and his smile only grew, “Sorry?”

“I mean, for the wedding,” she corrected, “I’m the maid of honor! Betty Cooper!”

Another slip. She was Betty Andrews. She hadn’t been Betty Cooper for six years. Where had that come from?

His large, warm hand engulfed hers, scattered her wayward thoughts, and he smiled yet again…and she was lost.

“Can’t say I’m mad about that,” he said almost under his breath like he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted her to hear him.

But she did hear him and it caused a light fluttering in her belly. Betty wondered just how long it had truly been since she’d had someone give her a case of butterflies. It was not an unpleasant sensation. She stepped a little bit closer to him, just a little, just enough. “Oh,” she said, all innocence, “why is that?”

She watched his green gaze dart between her eyes and her lips over and over and over again as though her were fighting the impulse to stare at her mouth.

Instead of answering the question, he countered with one of his own, “Can I get you another?”

Betty nodded and handed him her empty glass. He disappeared with a promise to ‘be right back’ and as soon as he was swallowed up by the throng of people, Betty spun on her heel to check her appearance in the circular mirror that hung decorously behind the buffet table. Her French chignon was good. One gold strand of hair had come loose by her ear, but the effect was desirable rather than sloppy so she was good with it. Her skin was flushed and glowy from her day out in the sun. All in all, she felt good about her appearance; she felt pretty. She turned back right as Jughead reappeared with her champagne and a fresh drink for himself, as well.

“Your champagne, milady,” he said with an air of drama – and Betty was unashamed to admire that she loved it!

So, she played right along, offered him a little curtsy, “Why, thank you, kind sir!”

He opened his mouth to reply to her when someone bumped into his shoulder from behind. He stumbled forward into Betty, raised his glass to the side to avoid sloshing his drink all over her. Betty touched her available hand to his side to steady him. It was innocent, the touch. But she’d inadvertently slid her hand beneath the jacket of his suit and the thin material of his dress shirt did nothing to mask the firmness of his abdomen or the heat that radiated from his body. Even after he’d regained his full balance and stabilized, Betty was reluctant to remove her hand from him. In seeming reciprocity, he reached out and clasped her by the elbow, held her close to him.

“It’s freaking crowded in here,” he said in her ear, “do you wanna duck out to the balcony.”

The speed with which she nodded to this made her feel like a bobblehead doll. Jughead blessed her with another smirk and cocked out his elbow. Betty threaded her hand through the crook and let him escort her through the hoard of partygoers and out to the much quieter outdoor stone balcony. 

Jughead could hardly catch his breath as he guided the most gorgeous creature that he’d ever laid eyes on through the French doors to the balcony. He hoped her didn’t come off as a creeper, but at the same time he unabashedly led her directly to the darkest, most secluded corner of the balcony and tucked her into it. He placed himself between her and the rest of the party. He wanted her all to himself.

She twisted around, leaned back against the railing, sipped from her drink, and blinked those amazing eyes at him. She was coy, a femme fatale, a coquette, and was pretty sure that he was halfway hard just from looking at her.

“So…” she practically fucking _purred_ at him, a mischievous little twinkle in those green ocean eyes, “you know Reggie from college?”

“Mmhmm,” he nodded.

She set her glass down on the rail to free up her hands so that she could talk with them and Jughead found that he was completely and utterly charmed.

“You’re gonna have to elaborate on that,” she said and gestured to his body, “because while all of _this_ is very nice, and it is, believe me, it doesn’t exactly scream ‘I spend every waking hour in the gym’ like Reggie’s other ‘bros’.”

The laugh that burst forth from Jughead’s throat caught even him by surprise.

Betty’s face crumpled, “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”

“No, it didn’t, you’re fine. And you’re right. I’m quite obviously _not_ a jock,” he pulled his Marlboros from his inner jacket pocket, “will it bother you if a smoke?”

She shook her pretty head, “Not at all.”

He lit up and took a deep drag. The nicotine filled his lungs, steadied his hands, and calmed his nerves. He’d needed that. He’d been hiding his shaking hands since the moment she’d smiled at him the first time when he’d made his ill-timed comment about Veronica. He really didn’t want to fuck up and say something stupid that would send her running away screaming.

“So,” he said on a stream of smoke that he made sure to blow away from her, “the sordid story of Jug and Reg, huh?”

“Ooh,” she cooed and took another quick sip of her drink, “I love story time!”

Smitten as he was, he couldn’t have stopped the grin if he’d tried, “Story time, indeed. Reggie, brace yourself, was my randomly assigned roommate freshman year at Iowa State.”

Betty choked on her champagne from laughter at that, so much so that she spit just a little over the balcony. “How? What kind of algorithm did they use to get that combination?” she snickered.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jughead agreed, delighted that he was so easily keeping her entertained, “there I was, this scrawny, pale, emo loner with my Tarantino movie posters and vintage underwood typewriter and into my world storm Reginal Mantle with his high school letterman jacket, J-Crew cheekbones, and nerf basketball hoop.”

“Oh, dear,” Betty commiserated kindly.

“Yes,” he continued, “I wanted to move out immediately. The very helpful RA informed me that the dorms were at full capacity and I’d just have to suck it up and deal. So, I decided I had dealt with his type pretty much all my life, all through high school definitely. I knew how to keep my head down, slip under the radar, if you will. I could survivor one semester with a total _bro_. Then, I could switch up the following semester when the inevitable rooms opened up from drop-outs and transfers. So, we’re three whole days into the semester, I’m sitting by myself in the student cafeteria eating my weight in chicken tenders and reading my battered old copy of _The Bell Jar_ – ”

“Of course, you were reading _The Bell Jar._ ”

“-when Reggie thunks his tray down in front of me, says ‘hey, man’ and starts eating as if it were the most natural thing in the world.”

Betty narrowed her eyes and shook her head a little, “The nerve.”

“I know!” Jughead exclaimed, “Did he not understand that we were meant to be arch nemeses?”

“I mean, that was just plain inconsiderate of him.”

“Then, he put the final nail into the coffin.”

“Oh, do tell!”

“He invited me to a _Kill Bill_ double feature.”

“He went right for the jugular!”

“How was I to resist? I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Seems not.”

He smiled as he remembered the beginnings of friendship with a person who had turned out to be one of the best men he’d ever known, “Turned out we were both scholarship students. Him – football. Me – creative writing. Of course, my scholarship was by necessity whereas he was because his father is a major douche.”

She nodded her head as though she knew the douchedom of which he spoke, but her attention seemed to zero in on a completely separate detail.

“Creative writing, huh?” Betty said, and sank those straight white teeth into her plump bottom lip which tempted him to do the same – God, did he want to! “So, what do you do with that degree?”

He felt the tips of his ears grow hot but he didn’t let himself look away. Instead, he maintained eye contact and faked a confidence that he didn’t actually feel. His books had done well, both in sales and with the critics. Very well, actually. But it never stopped the feeling of vulnerability that always came to the surface when he admitted that they were out there.

“I’m an author,” he said finally.

“Really?” she exclaimed. Was it his imagination or had her already vibrant eyes brightened even more? “Have I read you?”

He shrugged and took another pull from his cigarette more to have something to do with his hands than because he wanted to, “Maybe. Um… _The Fall of Stonewall. American Backwards._ The most recent is T – ”

“ _The Killing Tapes_!” she cut him off and grabbed his forearm which gave him a minor embolism, “You’re F P Jones, III! I love you!!”

Jughead sputtered on his cigarette smoke.

“I mean – your books,” she hastened, flushed from head to toe, “I – I love your books. I have them all.”

Even in the dark, he could see how pink her cheeks had turned and dear lord did he adore her. How was she real? How was this actually happening to him? In a move that was so much bolder that he typically was, he twisted the arm that she had rested her hand on to brush his fingertips along the soft bare skin of her forearm.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I knew what you meant.”

Maybe he hallucinated it, but he’d swear that he saw the pulse jump in the vein of her lovely throat. He allowed himself for a moment, just a moment, to think that maybe she felt the smallest bit of the same desire that he felt for her. He moved in even closer to her body, and she didn’t move away.

Could he hear her heart? He had to be able to hear her heart. She could barely hear anything else. He dragged his warm fingers along the sensitive skin of the underside of her forearm and she thought that if he kept doing that, she was going to lose what was left of her mind and jump him.

And that would be bad.

So, so bad.

But God, he was beautiful. And the way that he looked at her! She wanted to drown in him; sink into him; become part of him.

It was okay to pretend, right? Just for one night, it was okay to pretend that she wasn’t tied forever to a life that she hated and a man who made her miserable. She could enjoy a light flirtation with an interesting man who wouldn’t even be in town for that long. She knew from the blurb on his book covers that he was based out of New York City, though suddenly that thought hurt. The idea of him leaving town and her never seeing him again made her unbearable sad.

She shook the sadness off with a ruthless determination. This was a light, meaningless liaison between strangers with mutual friends in common. It couldn’t be any more than that, it could go no further.

She couldn’t allow it to go any further.

She cleared her throat and along with it, she cleared morose direction of her thoughts. “So, you, uh, you don’t really look like the picture on your book covers.”

He tossed his head back and laughed like a kid. Betty found herself momentarily mesmerized by the movement of his Adam’s apple.

“Oh, lord,” he said and flicked his spent cigarette out into the darkness, “that _picture._ ”

“Yeah…” Betty added with a stupid grin. The picture was really about as far from the man before her as possible. He’d worn a brown tweed jacket and hunter green sweater vest, neither of which had fit him appropriately. He had a thin mustache and goatee, worn horn rimmed glasses, and his hair had been heavily oiled and slicked straight back. It was no wonder she hadn’t recognized him as one of her favorite authors.

“Let’s see, yeah, I published my first novel when I was…twenty? The picture was my agent’s doing. He wanted me to look more professional that my ripped jeans and hipster flannel projected, so he dressed me in that ridiculous getup. Reg was there and kept telling me that I looked like a tool, but I didn’t agree. I trusted my agent implicitly. Now, it’s kind of a running joke amongst us all.”

“It is a pretty awful picture,” she agreed.

He eased even a little closer, rested his hand on the rail by her hip so that she was essentially more or less tucked beneath his arm, “Well, I was a dumb twenty-year-old kid.”

“And you’re not that anymore?” she teased, batted her eyes as her hand, of its own damn volition, rose and traced along the lapel of his dinner jacket, tugged him just one more step closer.

He hummed from deep in his throat and looked down at her, his heavy-lidded eyes slumberous and half-closed. The very definition of “bedroom eyes.” He blatantly stared at her mouth. “Now, I like to think of myself as a dumb twenty-seven-year-old _man_.”

“You’re from New York?” she asked.

Jughead shrugged, “Well, I am, now. Grew up in Toledo, the scholarship to Iowa. Kind of a nomad, I guess.”

“But you’ve put down roots in New York City?”

“I have, yeah,” he nodded with an impish little upturn of those plush looking lips, “I like New York. I like the bustle, the controlled chaos of it all. My apartment would fit into Veronica’s living room, but it suits me and Hot Dog just fine.”

Betty felt her grin widen. Her cheeks had started to hurt from smiling so much, “Hot Dog?”

“He’s a big, oafish, sheepdog mixed mutt,” Jughead said with a fondness that Betty found beyond endearing, “but I love him.”

“Where is he now?” she asked, “Not in a kennel?”

“Oh, God no!” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t do that to him. His social anxiety is worse than mine! No, he had a regular dog walker that comes over three times a day for an hour each time. She walks him, feeds him, plays with him. Gives him some affection. I use her a lot when I have to travel for book tours, when I can’t take him with me anyway.”

“You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?” she giggled.

“When it comes to Hot Dog, yeah, I guess I am.” 

She bit down on her bottom lip and let herself relish in the way that his already dark eyes darkened even more at the action. “You mentioned book tours. So…are you…working on anything new?”

He lifted his hand from the balcony rail to twirl the strand of her hair that had escaped her chignon between his fingers, “I’ve been searching for my muse.”

Betty felt breathless, weak, and she was pretty sure that she was having a cardiac event, “And – do you think you’ve found it?”

He touched his fingers to her jaw, “I think – maybe I have.”

Oh, fuck! He was leaning in. He was going to kiss her! And she didn’t know if she had the strength to stop him. To tell him that he shouldn’t. That he _couldn’t_! And – dammit she didn’t want to stop him. When he was little more than a breath away – ”

“Betty?”

She gasped at the sound of the all too familiar voice and shoved Jughead away from her with a hand to his chest, winced at the look of confusion on his face.

“There you are,” Archie said as he walked over to join them, oblivious to what he interrupted. He wore his Sunday church suit. Light tan wholesomeness to Jughead’s dark mystery.

“Archie,” Betty squeaked, “I, uh, I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Eh, I got back from fishing and thought I’d swing by,” he looked at Jughead, “hey, man.”

“Hi?” Jughead responded, unsure of exactly what was going on.

Betty’s engrained Cooper manners kicked in, “Archie, this is Jughead Jones. He’s the author that I’m always reading.” 

“Cool!”

“Jughead, this is Archie. He’s – ” there was no sugar-coated way to soften this one, “my husband.”

Jughead’s gaze darted to her even as he shook Archie’s hand. He laughed to himself but the sound was noticeably devoid of the humor that had been present just a few moments before. “Of course, you,” he said, “nice to meet you.”

“Oh!” Archie exclaimed and dug a hand into his pants’ pocket, “before I forget, you left these in the soap dish again.”

He placed something in her palm.

Her wedding rings.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Archie chided, then glanced over his shoulder, “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

Then he left them. He didn’t offer to get Betty a drink, didn’t ask her if she needed anything, didn’t tell her that she looked nice. He just left.

Jughead’s gaze followed the movement of her hands as she slipped her rings back onto the significant fourth finger, “So, I’m married.”

“I gathered,” he replied dryly.

His voice had changed. It was harder. When finally brought herself to look up at him, his eyes had gone cold and part of her wanted to throw herself off of the balcony.

“Leave those at home often, do you?” he asked, his tone harsh and sharp.

Betty furrowed her brow in confusion at the question, “What?”

Then Archie’s comment about needing to remember her rings replayed in her head and she realized how this must all have looked to Jughead. The eagerness with which she’d gone off alone with him, the ease with which she’d flirted with him, toucher him, and the knowledge that she often went out without her rings. He thought she’d been trolling for a lover – and that she’d done so before.

She didn’t fully understand why, but she couldn’t bear that thought of him thinking so poorly of her for the rest of their lives.

“Please,” she pleaded, her voice soft, “it’s really not what you’re thinking.”

“And what, pray tell, am I thinking?” he demanded as he took a step back to put even more distance between their bodies.

She felt the building sting of tears in her eyes, blinked them away, “You’re thinking that I’m a woman who cheats on her husband – and I’m not. I swear, I’m not. I’ve never…” She struggled to find the words and gestured back and forth between the two of them, “ _This_ has never happened to me before tonight.”

Jughead wanted to believe, God, he really wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the connection he’d felt hadn’t been one-sided; that he wasn’t just some pawn in a game that she played on a regular basis. But, even it he _did_ believe that, even if she had just been caught up in the same pull of attraction that he himself had been, what did it change? It didn’t change anything. It didn’t change the fact that she had a husband inside of the party. One who happened to bear a psychologically damaging resemblance to the jocks that had made his life a living hell in high school. It was true that Reggie and the group of friends he’d made at Iowa had taught him that not all jocks were assholes, but he was inclined by a new prejudice to be judgmental and dislike Betty’s husband…because he was Betty’s husband.

There was a desperation in her gaze, her wide green eyes seemed to beg him for something but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

What he really hated though was the fact that he had met this woman maybe an hour before and he wanted so badly to give her whatever it was that she was asking for. He’d give her all the pieces of himself if that was what she wanted – and that was dangerous thinking.

So, he needed to remove himself from the situation.

“Look, Betty,” he said as his entire being kicking into self-preservation mode, “you’re beautiful – and you seem funny and smart and interesting – but I don’t know what it is that you want from me here.”

She sucked her lips into her mouth, pressed them into a tight line. Her eyes darted around the balcony as though she searched for an answer out in the distance.

“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. She wrapped her arms around her torso as in defense from the cold despite the humid warmth of the night, “All I know if that I don’t want you to walk away thinking the absolute worst of me.”

He licked at his own lips. They felt dry and parched. He was stressed out and anxious. He shoved his hands deep into his pants’ pockets and shrugged his shoulders, forced nonchalance.

“We don’t even know each other, Betty.” 

The honest truth had never felt so much a lie. Their brief interaction had felt like coming home after being away for his entire life.

More dangerous thoughts.

Please, Jughead,” she stepped toward him.

He stepped back.

He couldn’t let her touch him. He’d be even more lost that he already was.

He pushed the breath from his lungs, “Alright, listen, I don’t think badly of you. You gave me no reason to. The only thing you did was agree to come outside and keep me company. Any assumptions that were made were mine. I take full responsibility for that.”

“J – ”

“It was very nice to meet you,” he cut her off before she could finish the sentence, before she could wound him even deeper, “I look forward to seeing you at the wedding.”

He left her standing there on the balcony as he rejoined the crush inside. She’d looked somber and beautiful and just slightly broken and he’d cursed whatever deity was out there that loved to torment him with things that he could never have.

The rest of the night, he’d felt like some deranged, obsessed stalker as his stare tracked Betty’s movements throughout the party. She’d spent some time with her husband but not nearly as much as he’d expected. Every so often, she’d catch his gaze and offer him a small, sad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and he’d look away.

But that night, once the guests had departed, including Betty, and Jughead had retreated to the guestroom that was almost as big as his New York City loft apartment, he sat down at his computer and began to flesh out a new heroine.

She would be a wild-eyed blonde temptress with laughter in her voice and mischief in her nature. She would seduce the young hero away from his home, his family, and his safety. What would he be willing to do in order to possess her? Would he lie? Steal? Cheat? Would he be willing to kill for her?

It seemed he had discovered his muse. He hadn’t lied about that.

When the Saturday morning sunlight poured through her bedroom window and woke Betty from her restless sleep, she found herself in a cold empty bed. She didn’t know where Archie had disappeared to and if she was honest with herself, she didn’t particularly care. She crawled out of the bed, she was groggy and had a pounding headache from the amount of alcohol she’d consumed at Veronica’s. When she looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she found her eyes bloodshot and swollen. She may have gotten drunk and cried herself to sleep the night before as she’d ruminated on her wasted life and neglected dreams.

She’d wanted to go to school for investigative journalism. She’d wanted to make a difference in the world by uncovering corruption and scandal and informing the populace of the truth.

And what had she done instead?

She’d become a paper pushed for a family run construction company in a small town where she was trapped in a dead-end marriage.

She shook off her melancholy and got into the shower. If there was one thing that Betty Cooper Andrews had mastered in her lifetime, it was the ability to suppress her feelings and to soldier through with the trade mark Cooper smile on her face.

When she exited her front door, dressed and made up for the day, she noticed how overgrown her front yard had started to look. She’d have to pay the high school kid down the block to take care of it soon. God knew she couldn’t ask Archie. He’d just complain about how he did manual labor all day and he didn’t have the “time or energy to mow the damn lawn. Just take care of it, Betty.”

She guided her car down main street and pulled into Pop’s parking lot to grab herself a coffee – the best part of her day usually. She pushed into the diner, took a moment to appreciate the familiar smells of brewed coffee, fried eggs and bacon, and sweet maple syrup. They were the smells from her childhood and they offered a comfort that she didn’t necessarily find in other places. Out of habit, she swept her gaze around the inhabitants of her favorite establishment – and they landed on Jughead Jones tucked in the far corner booth. He wore the horn-rimmed glasses from his awful book picture and gazed intently at his table. Betty rose to her tiptoes and peered over the seat tops. A laptop. He was focused on a lap top.

“Hey, Betty,” Pop greeted her when he emerged from the kitchen, “usual coffee to go?”

Betty smiled at the older man and pointed toward Jughead, “Actually, Pop, the guy in the back booth? What’s he drinking?”

Pop shrugged, “Black coffee.”

Betty nodded, chewed on her lip, then asked a favor, “Can I – can I get a coffee cup for here and borrow the pot?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Pop said and handed her an empty mug and set the coffee pot on the counter for her.

She grabbed the pot, took a breath, mustered up her courage, screwed it to the sticking place, and made her way over to Jughead’s booth. He was so intent on the screen in front of him that he did not notice her approach. Another steadying breath of air into her lungs and, “Refill?”

Jughead started at the sound of her, actually jumped where he sat. When he finally looked up at her, he blinked several times in rapid succession, “Betty?”

“Hi, Jughead,” she said as she topped off his half empty coffee cup, “may I sit?”

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

She slid into the booth across from him and filled her own mug, “So, the _glasses_ at least weren’t your agent’s doing?”

He just stared at her for a moment in some kind of confused daze before he came back to himself. “Uh, no,” he said and removed the eyewear, pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes and blinked a few times as though his vision were strained, “these are all me. They help with the staring at tiny words all day.”

Betty could imagine it so clearly; a messy desk, he’d need organized chaos to get his creative juices flowing. Cup after cup of coffee to stimulate his nerves and the occasional cigarette break to bring them back down. In her split-second fantasy, she inserted herself into his life. She’d have dinner for him when he finally emerged from his office. She’d have just arrived home herself from whatever paper she’d been working for. She’d pour them each a drink; a glass of red her and a scotch neat for him. She realized he’d just been staring at her in silence for the moment she spent in her fantasy land and shook it away.

“Sorry,” she said, “um, the reason I came over – I have a proposition for you.”

He looked more than a little skeptical, “Okay?”

“You’re here for the duration of this wedding, right?”

“I am.”

“Well, if I know Veronica Lodge, and I do, there is going to be no shortage of events, dinners, parties, et cetera that we are going to be required to attend and interact with each other at.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Betty nodded, like that he was still with her so far, “So, if we leave things the way we left things, I’m going to spend every single one of those events tense and stressed and thinking that you hate me.”

“Bett – ” he started but she didn’t let him finish.

“No, I will. I know myself. So, I need you to let me explain myself. I need you to let us start over – so we can be friends and enjoy each other’s company as we’re thrust together again and again for this thing.”

“So, you need to appease your own conscience?” he said, but it was said with a little half smirk the bespoke of humor and filled Betty with hope.

“Yep, pretty much,” she conceded.

“Alright,” he closed his laptop, slid to the side, and leaned forward with his arms crossed, elbows on the table, “lay it on me, Cooper.”

The smile that she gifted him with was extraordinary. He’d spent half the night feverishly trying to capture her wit and charm and beauty on the page and the other half trying with an almost pathetic desperation to convince himself that she couldn’t have been as amazing as he’d built her in his mind.

Now that she was once again face to face with him, he could see that she was all of it and more still. 

And she was still married.

He watched her breathe in deep through her nose, then she offered him her hand across the table, “Hello! My name is Betty Cooper Andrews! I got married at nineteen to my high school boyfriend, put college on hold, and have never been out of my small hometown of Riverdale. I clean my house from top to bottom every Saturday and when I do this, I take off my wedding rings and am sometime a bit careless and forget to put them back on.”

“Wow. That was…a lot.”

“And last night at the engagement party of my dearest friend in the world, I was flirted with by an attractive, interesting man and I maybe encouraged him more than a married woman should have.”

Jughead felt like rooster ready to preen, “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she grinned, “but in my defense, he was really cute.”

Jughead laughed at that, but as per his typical modus operandi, his insecure self-deprecation kicked its way to the surface, “So, you led this poor schmuck on because he was cute?”

The laughter left her eyes and all at once she looked so incredibly small and lonely somehow. He hated it. Someone as breathtaking as she should always be smiling.

“I didn’t mean to lead you on,” she said, open and vulnerable.

But he was vulnerable, too. She’d made him that way. “Then why – ”

“You made me feel butterflies,” she said and Jughead thought he might swallow his tongue at the wistful little smile that fluttered across her lips. What a pretty picture she was. “I – I haven’t felt anything like that in a long time but you – you smiled at me. You laughed with me. And – _pow_. Butterflies.”

“I – uh – ”

“I just wanted to hang on to that feeling for a little while, you know. While I could.”

There was a battle that waged within Jughead at her admission. Part of him was beyond elated that this smart, charismatic, angel on earth had felt something – fucking butterflies! – for him. The other part of him wanted to weep because he knew that nothing would or could ever come from those – from their – feelings.

He needed to stop this. He needed to self-preserve. He needed to steer them back to safer ground. “What?” he said, “your husband doesn’t give you butterflies.”

She laughed, a humorless sound that was more akin to the push of a small burst of air through her nose, “No, not for a long time.”

So much for safer ground.

He ran his hands through his hair, tangled his fingers in it, tugged. “Okay, you can’t – I’m still confused about what you want with me, Betty.”

She looked away from him, plucked at her fingers, chewed on her bottom lip. “I – ” she brought her gaze back to his once more, “I want to talk to you. I want us to get along. We can be friends, right?” 

“So, you wanna be – friends?” he replied.

She nodded with enthusiasm, her pretty eyes alight, her golden ponytail bobbed up and down. “I have it on good authority that I am an excellent friend.”

“And it won’t bother you that I’m wildly attracted to you?”

He didn’t know where that had come from. He was never that bold, that forward…but there was something about Betty that brought it out in him.

Betty blinked at him, slow, sensual. Her pupils dilated. God, he was a masochist. When she spoke, her voice was breathy and rasped with what he recognized as lust, “As long as it doesn’t bother you that the feeling is entirely mutual.”

The air between felt thick and heavy and charge, as though any moment there would come a crackle of electricity. Jughead forced himself to look away from her oceanic eyes, cleared the arousal from his throat, “Okay, enough of that, now.”

Betty shook herself out of the desirous haze she’d fallen into and willed her pulse to calm. “Yes,” she agreed, “moving on!”

“So, we’re gonna be friends.”

“I’d like that very much.”

“Okay, friend, tell me about you.”

She wasn’t sure why, but she hadn’t expected that. “I, uh, what – what do you want to know?”

Jughead’s eyes were so soft, “Everything.”

Dammit, there went her heart again.

“But, let’s start small,” he gestured to their neglected coffee cups, “coffee talk, if you will. You mentioned you delayed college. When did you go?”

Just a little embarrassed, Betty sighed, “Still delayed.”

“Okay,” Jughead nodded and she could see there was judgment in him, “what do you do instead?”

“I’m a bookkeeper for my husband’s construction company.”

“You work with your husband?”

She nodded.

“Is that why you put off school?”

She nodded again, “When his father passed, Archie took over the family business. He needed my help getting out of the red.”

Jughead held his head slightly to the side, appeared deep in thought, his intelligent eyes seemed to see too much, “And you’re still in the red?”

Too, too much.

She decided to steer clear of her poor life choices and disappointment. Instead, she pointed to his laptop, “So, you were staring pretty intently at that thing when I came in. Can I expect to fork over $24.99 for a new F P Jones the Third masterpiece from Glamazon in the near future?”

He fixed her with a solid stare for a good long moment and she knew it was for the sole purpose of letting her know that he knew exactly what she was doing. Then, he moved on. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said easily, “I could probably arrange you an advanced copy for free.”

“Ooh,” she cooed.

Jughead lifted his coffee cup, “Play your cards right, I might even get you a _signed_ copy.”

Betty slapped a palm to the table, “Yes, I love it when you talk dirty.”

Then she watched in horror and humiliation as Jughead inhaled his coffee, then coughed harshly and spat droplets across the table and his own lap. He continued coughing as he grabbed at the napkin dispenser. Betty covered her face with her hands.

What was wrong with her! She never just blurted things out like that.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, “that was – so incredibly inappropriate and I – ”

“Betty, Betty, calm down,” Jughead laughed as he dabbed at his pants with a paper napkin, “It’s alright.”

Betty felt every muscle in her body relax in stark relief at both his words and jovial tone. “I don’t know why I said that.”

He grinned, his green eyes twinkled, and Betty wanted to stay lost in them for the rest of her life. “Look,” he said, “we’ve decided to be friendly. We’ve admitted that we’re attracted to each other. I know that you’re taken and that – nothing romantic can ever happen.”

Betty wanted to cry.

“So, I don’t see any harm in innocent flirting.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” he decreed, “in fact, I rather enjoy it. There are worse ways to spend my time than being flirted with by a blonde goddess.”

And just like that, Betty found her mood shifted and his words made her giggle like a school girl with a crush. “Now, you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I am,” he said with that grin that Betty had started to believe might be essential to her very existence, “but I’m also being sincere. I don’t mind the teasing if you don’t.”

“Well, alright, then,” she acquiesced, then her eyes caught sight of the time on the clock, “I should really get going.”

“Oh!” Jughead seemed so disappointed that Betty felt something warm and squishy in the best way twist in the depths of her belly, “Oh, of course.”

“I have some wedding errands to run for V,” she explained, gathered another shred of bravado and continued, “Do you – maybe – wanna come with me?”

He did that adorable rapid blinking thing again and she knew that he was surprised by the invite. But he seemed to recover himself quickly.

“Uh, sure. Definitely.”

He gathered his computer and a few coffee splattered notes and slid them all into a leather messenger bag, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and then followed her from the diner – with his warm hand at the small of her back.

Betty had had the best day. Better than she’d had in a long time, maybe years. Jughead had proved to be an entertaining companion. The small bit of time they’d had at Veronica’s party really hadn’t done him justice. His wit was acerbic and dry, his powers of observation were terrifying and more than once he had her laughing so hard that her stomach had cramped. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed that much, the last time she’d had that much fun.

As she stirred a pot of spaghetti sauce, she let herself think about when they’d popped into Pansy Patel’s Party Place to pick up some little glass swans that Veronica had ordered as table décor/party favors. She’d been at the counter with Pansy to examine a few of the fragile figurines and make certain all was well. Pansy had said suddenly, “Sir, don’t touch that.”

Jughead’s voice had come from behind her, “What _is_ this?”

“Sir, please – ”

BOOM

Pansy was cut off by the ear-splitting sound that caused both her and Betty to flinch. Betty spun on her heel to see where Jughead stood. He looked slightly shell-shocked, surrounded by a small puff of sulfur smelling smoke. Small bits of purple, pink, and blue confetti dusted his shoulders and clothes and clung to the dark strands of his hair. Betty turned back around slowly to face Pansy who looked red-faced and a little murderous. Betty’s voice trembled as she struggled to suppress her giggles. “These, um, these all look great, Mrs. Patel I’ll go bring the car around if you could get the boxes ready.”

She rushed for the exit, caught Jughead by the sleeve as she went and dragged him with her. They had laughed like children all the way back to the car. She’d accused him of having the mentality of a five-year-old and he’d complained that he still didn’t know what the hell that this was.

Betty added a pinch more garlic to the sauce and thought about how nice it had been to just _play_. She hadn’t just simply _played_ in forever. And wasn’t that what you were supposed to do with a partner? Yes, you shared each other’s burdens – but what about each other’s joys, dreams, and silliness? You should be able to be silly with your partner. You should be able to be playful.

She suddenly wondered how playful Jughead could be in bed.

Then Archie was beside her and she tramped down that train of thought real quick. When she turned to offer him what she knew to be a tight smile, she noticed that he did _not_ look happy.

That in and of itself wasn’t unusual. They were rarely happy anymore – but he looked borderline irate.

“I went by the hardware store today,” he started.

Again, this was not out of the bounds of the ordinary. “Okay,” she said.

“Ran into Chuck. He’s putting in a hot tub.”

Betty turned back to the sauce. She couldn’t have cared less about Chuck Clayton installing a hot tub at his house. Though she might subtly warn any of his prospective dates to be on guard for aquatic sexual assault along with his typical vehicular groping.

“Good for him,” she said.

“He told me he spotted you running all over town with some dark-haired man.”

Betty froze, and then forced herself to continue her stirring motion. “I was running errands for the wedding. Jughead Jones was with me. You met him at the party last night. He’s Reggie’s best man. He agreed to keep my company, help me out since there were some boxes and such to lift.”

She fixed two plates, ladled sauce over the noodles, and carried them over to where Archie sat at the dinner table – waiting to be served.

“It doesn’t look right,” he said, “you out with another man.”

“For God sake, Archie.”

“I’m just saying,” he went on, “people talk. And I don’t want them to talking about my wife.”

Betty set her fork down with more force than really necessary, “Archie, I was running errands for Veronica’s wedding. Jughead offered to help me. I wasn’t going to turn down help when I had so much to do. I don’t care what your good old football crony thought when he saw us.”

“Fine, I suppose it’s fine. Especially since the wedding is soon and it won’t be a regular thing.”

Betty wanted throw her plate of pasta at his head. Instead, she twirled some around her fork and shoved it into her mouth so she wouldn’t say something she may – or to be fair may not – regret later.

Archie took a bite as well, then cleared his throat, a dropped another bombshell. “So…I’ve been thinking, Betty. Maybe it’s time we started trying for a baby.”

Betty choked a little on her bite of spaghetti. She took a drink of water to wash it down, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I mean, why not?” he said, and he was smiling almost manically, “The business is doing well enough, now. We could start making our family.”

Betty took a breath, “If the business is doing well enough, maybe I could take some time off – go back to school and – ”

“Don’t start this again, Betty. I still need you at Andrews. But…we’re on stable enough ground now, we could have a kid or two. Don’t you want that?”

“Um, I, uh,” she stammered, “I suppose it’s definitely worth considering.”

He reached over and gave her hand a somewhat stilted pat, “Good. Good. That’s good.”

Later that night, Archie had settled into his recliner to watch some sports team or another. Betty rushed into the bathroom with her cell-phone, locked the door, and turned on the shower. Veronica answered on the second ring.

“Betty, my angel, my dream, I’m going to have to call you back!” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“V?” Betty said, choked down her own panic, “Are you okay? You sound a little – frazzled.”

“Fucking Marty is here and he and Reggie are screaming at each in the living room. Vicky is in the corner working on her fourth glass of Chardonnay and I’m looking for my ice pick!”

“Okay, well, forget the pick. If it all goes downward, try to make it look like an accident. If you can’t do that, I’m sure I know one or two excellent places to dispose a body.”

“My devotion to you is unshakable and eternal.”

“As mine is to you.”

“Love you, B.”

“Love you, V.”

Before the phone beeped off, Betty heard what distinctly sounded like Veronica calling her soon-to-be-father-in-law a cocksucker.

She sat there for a moment longer, debated what she had a mind to do next, then tapped the contact that had been input into her phone that very afternoon.

“Hey, there, Cooper,” Jughead answered on the very first ring.

“Are you at Veronica’s?”

“God, no,” he stated on a chuckle, “Reg’s parents were coming to dinner and the last time I saw Marty Mantle, he threatened to have me thrown in jail and I pulled my switchblade.”

“That’s hot.”

“We’ll talk about that later. Anyway, I just figured it would be better for all if I made myself scarce. I’m at Pop’s enjoying the best fucking burger I’ve ever tasted.”

“I could have told you that. Make sure you try a milkshake.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said, “What flavor should I get?”

“I’m partial to vanilla, but they’re all delicious. And you seem like a chocolate kind of guy.”

“You are correct. I’ll make sure to get one when the waitress comes back around.”

“So, I have a ride or die question for you, Jug,” she said, “If Marty Mantle passes away tonight due to an unwieldy ice pick, will you help me stash the body?”

“Don’t say that shit on the phone, baby. Big brother is always listening,” he chided, “but, hell, yeah, of course.”

Betty laughed, “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” He said and Betty could hear the smile in his voice, “Now, tell me what’s wrong. You sound a little shaky.”

“I don’t know if this is something that I should talk to you about. Not _you._ ”

“Hey, we’ve decided to be friends. You can talk to me about anything.”

“Archie wants to have a baby.”

“Well, fuck.”

“Well said,” Betty countered as she sank to a sitting position on the floor, wedged in between the toilet and the bathtub.

“Betty…”

“I just, he said now that the company is doing better, we should get busy starting our family. The thing is, it isn’t about school anymore, which I did mention and he shot down immediately – ”

“Why did he shoot that down?”

Betty blew past the question as her frantic words became interspersed with choked sobs, “but the truth is my knee-jerk reaction to his suggestion of a baby was that I – I _can’t_. I can’t have a baby with this man. I can’t do it, Jug. Not – not with him. I know that’s wrong – but even the thought of – of carrying his – ”

There was a long pause during which all Betty could hear was Jughead’s steady, if a little quickened, breathing on the other side of the line.

“Say something, please.”

“I think you were right, Betty,” he said at last, “you shouldn’t be having this conversation with me.”

Betty sniffed, “I know. I know, it’s not fair.”

“Look,” he sighed and Betty could picture him. He’d be sitting in that same back booth. He’d pull his glasses off, set them on the table, and pinch the bridge of his nose between his fingers. God, how she wished she was with him. “Here’s what I’ll say on the matter, Betty, and this is what I would say to _any_ woman, so it isn’t colored by my very bias views of the situation. Nobody, including your husband, has the right to tell you what to do with _your_ body. If you don’t want to have a child, don’t have a fucking child. That is _your_ choice. Not his.”

“Somehow,” Betty said, took a deep breath, “somehow you knew exactly what I needed to hear. How did you do that? I wish I were at Pop’s with you, right now.”

“I’m glad you’re calming down,” he replied, “but I’m going to hang up the phone now…before we venture into that dangerous territory again.”

“I understand.”

“Sleep well, baby.”

“Good night, Juggie.”

He chuckled, “Juggie?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m good with that.”

“Good.”

“Bye.” 

“Bye.”

She didn’t see him at all Sunday, but she did have a rather pleasant, albeit brief exchange. She’d been tucked in the passenger seat of Archie’s truck as he drove them both to Sunday Morning Service and Riverdale Presbyterian when her phone had dinged with a text message notification. Seeing the singular letter ‘J’ as the sender brought an immediate smile to her face.

**J: Can I interest you in an innocent breakfast at Pop’s?**

**Betty: I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m on my way to church. Sorry.**

**J: Ooh, organized religion. Not really my scene.**

**Betty: Welcome to small town American, Mr. Jones. If I didn’t attend every Sunday, the townsfolk would I assume I’m a Satanist and break out the pitchforks.**

**J: Have you ever studied _actual_ Satanism? Beautiful religion.**

**Betty: Should I be concerned?**

**J: LOL. No. I don’t adhere to any particular brand of worship…but interestingly, neither do actual Satanists. Contrary to popular belief, they don’t worship the devil.**

**Betty: Is that right?**

**J: Yep. Basic principles are respect nature and don’t be a dick. I can sorta get behind that.**

**Betty: You are an enigma.**

**J: I’m gonna take that as a compliment.**

**Betty: It is.**

**Betty: I don’t know if I should be taking about Satanism when we’re pulling into the parking lot of the house of the lord.**

**J: Wipe your feet. Tell the big guy I said hi.**

**Betty: Will do. Have a nice day, Juggie.**

“Who are you talking to?” Archie asked, his eyes trained on her phone in her hands.

Betty didn’t hesitate in answering, “V. She’s on her way to mass. Wanted to know if I’d be available later.”

Archie didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t question her any further. Betty found herself praying that his non-existent powers observation had not somehow suddenly improved.

The rest of the week went by in a blur. Betty had managed to sidestep any more talk of children and family startings with Archie. Monday was the joint wedding shower. Veronica and Reggie opened wedding presents as Betty sat dutifully by their sides and wrote down each gift and who it’d been gifted from. She’d also spent the night sharing longing glances with Jughead as he’d hovered in the corner of the room with a drink.

Wednesday night was the respective bachelor and bachelorette parties. Around one in the morning, no more than twenty minutes after Betty had guided a drunken Veronica into bed, Jughead had stumbled into the apartment with an equally inebriated Reggie draped over his shoulders. Betty had helped him drop the big, silly lug on the sofa where he’d immediately passed out.

And Jughead and Betty had found themselves alone together in the middle of the night.

They stayed in the living room, on opposite sides, a lightly snoring Reggie on the sofa between them.

The tension was palpable.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, her voice low, secretive.

Jughead smiled in a shy boyish way, “Why does it always seem like when we manage to speak, we’re getting away with something?”

Betty took a step closer, “Because we are, aren’t we?”

“Like naughty children?”

“You make me feel like a child sometimes,” Betty grinned, “And I mean that in the best way. I feel like I can be silly with you.”

He stepped closer, “Are you feeling better than the other night?”

“I am. You helped,” she replied.

Jughead took a deep breath and smiled, his green eyes so tender and bright, “God, I want to touch you.” 

Betty swallowed hard, “I want you to touch me.”

“But I shouldn’t, should I?”

“No,” she answered with honesty, “I’ve had some to drink tonight and if you touch me now, I won’t be strong enough to ask you to stop. And we both know that it would be wrong.”

He nodded and clasped his hands behind his back as though he didn’t trust himself not to reach for her, “I – should go to bed.”

Betty whimpered and Jughead closed his eyes as though in pain.

He tightened his jaw in determination, opened his eyes, and started for the guest room. He brushed his arm against Betty’s as he passed and they both inhaled sharply at the contact. His step stuttered only for a moment, then he continued to his room and shut the door tight behind him.

Betty pressed the palms of her hands hard to her flushed face, then fanned them to cool her cheeks, wiped away the brimming tears, then went and crawled into bed with Veronica.

Thursday was a day full of text message exchanges.

8:53am :

**J: Having a vanilla milkshake at Pop’s and it made me think of you.**

**Betty: It’s 9am!**

**J: Jealous?**

**Betty: Extremely.**

**J: You could always join me.**

**Betty: I’m at work, Jug.**

**J: Me, too!**

**Betty: Yeah, my job requires an actual office.**

**J: That sounds miserable.**

**J: You should take a break. Come see me.**

**J: I’m a lonely outsider in a foreign land.**

**J: I need a friendly. :*-(**

**Betty: You’re a bad influence.**

**J: You’re not the first to say so.** 😉

11:31am :

**Betty: If you want some exciting reading material, you should try some minerals rights surveys, blasting permits, and workman’s comp forms.**

**J: I don’t know about the surveys and comp, but blasting sounds fun. Where can I get those?**

**Betty: I’m trying to figure out if you’re joking.**

**J: I’ll never tell.**

**Betty: LOL**

1:00pm :

**J: Picture Message Attached**

**J: Hot Dog say “Hi!”**

**Betty: OMG! He’s so fluffy! Look at him!**

**J: He felt like you might need something to smile at.**

**Betty: He did, did he?**

**J:** **😊**

**Betty: You’re making this hard.**

1:20pm :

**J: Do you get lunch?**

**Betty: We’re not heathens! Of course, I get lunch.**

**J: Where do you go for lunch?**

**Betty: I eat at my desk.**

**Betty: Like a heathen.** **😊**

**J: What if you went to that little café down the road from your office?**

**Betty: How do you know where my office is?**

**J: I assume it is that giant site that say Andrew’s Construction on the sign.**

**J: This may surprise you, but I can read.**

**Betty: I can’t today.**

**J: Please.**

**J: I just want to see you.**

**Betty: I really can’t, Juggie. Archie is bringing some prospective clients by. I have to be charming and get them to sign a contract.**

**J: More than just a pretty bookkeeper.**

11:51pm :

**Betty: Juggie?**

**Betty: Are you awake?**

12:01am :

**J: Betty?**

**Betty: I missed you today.**

**J: Can I call you?**

**J: I want to hear your voice.**

**J: Please say I can call.**

**Betty: Yes.**

Betty had tucked herself into the corner of the bathroom and swiped to answer as soon as her phone lit with Jughead’s contact.

“Hi,” She said and when she heard his response, she released a long breath that she hadn’t realized she been holding and her eyes closed in a kind of emotional relief.

“Hey, baby,” he said.

“I should tell you to stop calling me that,” she replied, “but I don’t want you to. I like the way it sounds on your lips.”

“You know, it occurred to me today that we’ve only known each other for six days,” he said, his voice incredulous, “How is that possible? I feel like my life wouldn’t be the same without you and I’ve known you for six fucking days.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Betty admitted, “I couldn’t fall asleep. I just kept thinking that I needed to talk to you one more time. I wanted…no…I _needed_ you to be the last person that I spoke to before I closed my eyes.”

Jughead sighed, “We can’t keep doing this to ourselves, Betty.”

“I know,” she said, “but you’ll be leaving soon. Can we just – enjoy each other’s company while you’re here? Is it so wrong?”

“You know it is.”

“I know no such thing.”

“Betty – ”

“Don’t spoil it, yet, Jug,” she begged.

“I won’t,” he acquiesced, “I won’t, baby. I don’t think I could stop now, anyway. Like I said, I can’t imagine my life without you. You’ve become…essential to me.”

“You’re essential to me, too, Juggie.”

They both sat in silence for a long moment, just listened to one another’s breath, allowed the weight of their reality settle on their shoulders. Betty could have sat that way all night and just taken comfort in the knowledge that Jughead was there on the other side of the phone. It was Jug who broke the silence at last.

“Get some sleep, baby.”

“You too, Juggie.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Friday night was the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner.

The rehearsal had been an unsettling experience for Jughead as he’d had a myriad of emotions to deal with in a very short span of time; almost simultaneously. At 6pm on the dot, the entire wedding party showed up at St. Catherine’s Church to walk through the ceremony procedures before they would gather at the Pembrooke’s five-star restaurant for a celebratory pre-wedding feast. Jughead couldn’t help but notice how lovely Betty looked even having come straight from work. She wore a fitted gran pencil skirt that showed her fantastic curves and had unbuttoned her pale pink silk blouse a few buttons. She looked just a little rumpled and he couldn’t suppress the desire that he had to rumple her just a little bit more – preferably somewhere private where it was just the two of them.

But it was the order of the ceremony that really fucked with his mental state.

He and Reggie walked in first, together with Monseigneur Murphy. They stood there at the front of the church as Moose escorted in Ronnie’s first bridesmaid, cute pixie of a girl named Midge Klump. She had taken a shine to Moose (even though he seemed more interested in Betty and Ronnie’s friend, Kevin.) Then, Mad Dog escorted in a fierce red-headed creature by the name of Cheryl Blossom. She was apparently an attorney and after one conversation with her, Jughead was equal parts terrified and tempted to put her on retainer. He figured if he ever got himself into trouble, having someone as quick, clever, and intimidating as her in his corner would be a hell of an advantage.

Betty, as the maid of honor, walked in solo.

Jughead stood at the front of a church and watched as his literal dream girl walked down the aisle in his direction. His stomach twisted into knots, his hands grew clammy, he felt sweat drip from his neck down his spine. It was heaven and hell all rolled into one torturous one-minute walk.

When she locked eyes with him at the halfway point, he forgot to breathe.

She took her place at the front of the line of bridesmaids and Jughead managed to pull himself together if just barely. Then of course, Ronnie entered on the arm of her horrifying father, Hiram and things proceeded.

As the Monseigneur walked them through what would happen throughout the ceremony, Jughead kept looking over at Betty. At one point, she twisted her mouth into an odd line and crossed her eyes at him. He snickered rather loudly which earned him a death-glare from Veronica’s mother, Hermione. When he cleared his throat after the reprimand and glared over at Betty, she furrowed her brow in an expression of faux seriousness and pursed him lips in a shush. He scrunched his nose and narrowed his eyes at her. Her returned smile was radiant. 

At the following dinner, Jughead was seated across from Betty at the long elegant table…and her red-haired husband who had joined them after the actual rehearsal was by her side.

It was uncomfortable, almost painful, to watch her sit there and tolerate him.

An army of servers flooded the room so that each guest was served their plate at the same exact moment. Jughead stared in unfaked horror at the tiny portion of unknown substance before him. He glanced up at Betty and stage whispered across to her, “What the hell is this?”

Betty snickered into the back of her hand, “Duck a l’orange.”

“Is that like Chinese orange chicken?” he asked, “Is this sweet and sour sauce?”

“No, honey,” she said, and didn’t notice when her husband’s gaze snapped over to her and narrowed. Jughead cleared his throat, tried to warn her with his eyes to be careful but she was enjoying herself apparently, “Aren’t you supposed to be this sophisticated, big shot New York author?”

He forgot himself as he basked in her delight and attention, “A New York Strip is about as sophisticated as my palette gets, babe.”

“How’s your dinner, sweetie?” Archie interjected, though the word ‘sweetie’ could have been substituted with ‘bitch’ with all the warmth it held. 

The light left her eyes and her smile turned brittle as looked over at him, “It’s good. Very…tender. Are you enjoying it?”

“Little fancy for me,” he said.

“Amen,” Jughead chimed, tried to appear less of a rival, less of a threat.

He tried to behave the rest of the evening, kept his guard up. He spoke with Midge a lot as she was seated next to him. She was a sweet, somewhat ditzy girl with a charmingly optimistic attitude. He would have characterized her as the stereotypical pixie-manic-dream-girl, except that every once in a while she hit him with a scathing observation about their one of their fellow attendees that would have him laugh aloud. After one such outburst, he had just smothered his laughter in his white linen napkin, when he glanced over and caught Betty glaring at the young woman. When she saw him catch her, she tried to look away like she hadn’t just been staring daggers at the brunette but he waited her out. When she glanced back up, he quirked an eyebrow in question. She smiled bashfully and shrugged her lovely shoulders.

God, they were in so much fucking trouble.

When the party finally broke apart, Veronica returned to the Pembrooke with her bridesmaids and Reggie and Jughead headed out to go to Moose’s house where they would spend the night. Jughead tried to linger behind just a bit, hoping he could see Betty…just talk to her for a minute without everyone around.

But Archie seemed to have lingered behind as well, his suspicious eyes tracked Jughead’s movements. He was waiting for him to leave before he relinquished his wife to her evening.

It was the last thing Jug wanted. He didn’t want to cause problems for her. He knew that was probably too little, too late. The problems were there…in abundance. He couldn’t deny that he felt something for Betty anymore than he could deny the fact that she obviously returned those feelings.

But he couldn’t openly approach her in front of her husband. He wouldn’t put her in that position. He would never purposely embarrass her like that, he would never hurt her. So, he kicked one foot at nothing like a sulking toddler and hurried out to Reggie’s car to get the night over with.

It was after 2am and he was wrapped in a quilt on Moose’s lumpy living room couch when his phone buzzed to life.

**Betty: Are you awake?**

He debated just not responding, but he’d just a soon give up oxygen as he would give up the chance to talk to her for a few minutes.

**J: Hey, pretty girl. Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?**

**Betty: Archie doesn’t like you.**

**J: Yeah, I gathered.**

**Betty: He seems to have figured out my crush.**

**J: Is that what this is? A crush?**

**Betty: What would you call it?**

**J: More than a crush.**

**Betty: I don’t know. Seems like an apt description to me.**

**Betty: I feel pretty damn crushed.**

**J: Don’t say that, baby.**

**Betty: Why does this hurt so much, Juggie? I barely know you!**

**J: God, Betty, I don’t know. I don’t wanna hurt you.**

**Betty: When do you leave, Jug?**

**J: Tomorrow.**

**J: My flight is 3 hours after the reception.**

**J: I didn’t think I’d have a reason to stick around.**

**Betty: That’s probably for the best.**

Fuck text. He hit her name in his contact list. She answered but didn’t say anything, so he did, “You don’t mean that!”

“Don’t I?” she asked, and he could hear the quiet shakiness of her voice, knew that she was crying, “It’s not like we can be together, Jug. Nothing can happen. We know this. I know this. _You_ know this!”

“Goddammit, Betty, I – ”

“The distance will help,” she said and her voice had taken on a determined hue laced with a finality that cleaved Jughead heart in twine, “If I know you’re not nearby, if you’re completely out of my reach, I can stop fantasizing. I can stop all the voices in my head that keep saying ‘what if.’ I need those voices to stop, Juggie.”

“But I hear them, too, baby.”

Her breath shuddered from across the line, from across the town, from across another plain of existence where he couldn’t ever touch her and they could never come together, “I know you do.”

“I don’t think I can give you up,” he said plainly, put his heart on his sleeve. He could hear the panic is his voice and hated it. He didn’t want to seem weak, but, dammit.

Her response was so purposely flat and somehow colder than anything he’d ever heard, “You can’t give me up, Jughead. You never had me.”

And the line went quiet.

The weather was sunny, clear, warm, and beautiful for the wedding. Veronica Lodge would have accepted nothing less. Even rain dare not defy a Lodge.

Betty, on the other hand, woke once again with swollen, puffy, bloodshot eyes. Jughead’s voice was on a loop in her mind saying again and again, “ _I don’t think I can give you up_.”

He’d sounded so on the edge, so desperate, she didn’t doubt that something in her soul had fractured when he’d said it. But what could she do? She was married and he was leaving! There was no right or good answer to the situation that they’d found themselves in; that they’d put themselves in. She couldn’t be what he needed and despite the fact the he was _everything_ she needed, she couldn’t ever have him.

“Good morning my beautiful Betty-boop!” Veronica chimed as she entered the en-suite bathroom, “I’m getting married toda – good Lord!”

Betty looked up from brushing her teeth, startled. “What is it?” she said with a mouth still full of Colgate.

“Don’t take this wrong, B,” Veronica said carefully, “but you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

Betty spit, wiped her mouth, “Oh, yeah. Rough night. Bad dreams. Sorry. I’ll dab a little concealer on and be good as new, I promise.”

Veronica started her for a long moment, her lips pressed together in a tight line as though she were fighting the desire to say something more.

“I’m fine, V, I promise,” Betty said, plastered on the trademark Cooper grin, “I’ll be dressed in just a few and we’ll head over to the church to get ready.”

And so it began.

Everything went by fairly quickly after that. At the church, a beautiful dressing room had been laid out and stocked with champagne and orange juice, which everyone drank, and piles of fruit and breakfast pastries which no one ate. Betty was pampered by two attendants devoted solely to helping get her prepared. She was lotioned, manicured, and massaged. Her hair was curled and arranged in a delicate updo with golden ringlets that framed her face. Her makeup was expertly applied before she was slipped and zipped into a lavender silk slip of a dress that hugged her curves lovingly and fell to just beneath her knees.

And she thought about Jughead.

Jughead, had a somewhat different morning.

He had been dragged off the couch by his ankle and told to “wake the fuck up” by a raucously laughing Moose. They’d been joined by Reggie and Mad Dog and the situation had rapidly devolved into an impromptu wrestling match between the foursome.

To an outsider looking in, it would surprise them to know that Jughead tended to come out on top in these little rough-house scenarios, despite the fact that he was much slighter than his three friends.

Reggie liked to say he was “small but scrappy.”

The two had been the victors in many a barroom brawl with over intoxicated frat boys together. The muscle-bound meatheads never expected the lanky weirdo with Reggie to have the reflexes of a cat and the swing of a jackhammer.

After the morning wrestling match, the friends had dragged themselves from the relative comfort of Moose’s house and on to the church.

It was there that Reggie had his small meltdown.

Moose and Mad Dog had popped out to sneak them all a bottle of liquor to do some pregame shots. As the door had clicked shut, Reggie had collapsed into an arm chair, his bravado gone, his breathing turned rapid.

“Jones,” he said, “holy Christ, Jones, what am I doing? Who am I kidding?”

“Reg,” Jughead had replied, “calm down, man. Breathe. Deep breaths for me!”

“Can I do this?” Reggie asked as tears formed in his lower eyelids, “Veronica – I mean, shit, Jones, Ronnie’s a goddess!”

“I’m sure she’d agree.”

“And I’m nobody!” he exclaimed, “I’m just a punk-ass kid from Riverdale! Who am I to think I could ever make her happy?”

“Hey!” Jughead knelt in front of the dearest friend he’d ever had, clasped his face in his palms, and forced him to look into his eyes, “that’s my bud you’re talking about. And you’re not nobody. You’re Reggie fucking Mantle! And you’ve been in love with Veronica Lodge since before I met you. She’s been your world and you’ve been hers. The only she needs from you to be happy…is you.”

Jughead couldn’t help but picture a completely different woman as he spoke.

“She just needs you to be there for her; to listen when she’s had a bad day. To tell her that she’s right when she needs to hear it. She’s more than capable of fighting her own battles, but she needs to know that if she ever needed to turn to you for support, you’d be there. She needs to know that you’ll be there and that you’ll love her no matter what. She just needs _you_ , man.”

Reggie had calmed down. And in a true sign of his friendship and love, he slapped a hand over Jughead’s shoulder, “That was beautiful, man. I think I might be in love with _you_ now.”

Jughead shoved him away on a cackle, “Fuck you, Reg.”

“Seriously, thanks, bro.”

And the door burst open and Mad Dog and Moose reappeared with not one, not two, but three bottles of Jack Daniels Tennessee Whiskey.

When Betty made her way down the aisle, a bouquet of simple white roses in her hand, she didn’t notice the crowd of people that stared at her. She didn’t notice Archie in the audience. Didn’t even know where he’d sat.

What she noticed, was Jughead Jones standing at the end of the aisle in a dapper black tuxedo, looking right back at her.

She didn’t know how she’d made it through the ceremony, didn’t remember a word that was said. She’d just stared across the aisle and into Jughead’s eyes for practically the entire thing. She had managed to take Veronica’s bouquet and hand her Reggie’s wedding ring at the appropriate times, which nothing short of a small miracle. But she spent the whole wedding distracted by the beautiful man who’d swept into her world and upended everything like a tornado.

At the reception, the champagne flowed. 

After having posed for dozens upon dozens of pictures, the wedding party entered the reception hall, sans bride and groom who had a few more pictures still to take.

Archie was waiting for Betty practically at the door. She entered on Jughead’s arm, as was apropos, but Archie more or less ripped her away from him as soon he laid eyes on her.

“Archie!” she exclaimed in a hushed whisper. People were already staring at them and she didn’t want to draw anymore attention than they already had.

“Thank God this wedding nonsense is almost over,” he snarled, “I don’t trust that guy and now you don’t have to be around him anymore.”

As discreetly as possible, Betty twisted her arm out of her husband’s grasp. She shoved her bouquet into his chest and snapped at him, “Well, as long as _you’re_ happy, Arch! I’m getting a drink.”

It took everything Jughead had in him to _not_ follow after her like the lovesick pup that he was. He could see that Archie had his eyes on him and he didn’t want to cause Betty more trouble than he already had. They’d been too obvious in their preference for each other’s company. Instead he watched her make her way over to the bar where she immediately downed a glass of sparkling champagne in one go. There was a large part of him that wanted to laugh, because of course she chugged a glass of champagne. The other part of him hated to see her so agitated. He wanted so badly to go to her, touch her, pet her, stroke her until she was soothed. He wanted to make her happy. He believed he could…make her happy.

Unfortunately, he could still feel the weight of her husband’s stare on him. So, he forced himself to look away from her, walked away to join Moose and Mad Dog. Moose had a beer in hand ready for him when he approached, which he accepted gratefully.

He had always, by nature, been a solitary kind of guy. He had always been more than content to keep his own company. However, in moments such as this, where his own thoughts were dangerous, where all he felt was a deep longing for something outside of his reach, there was a comfort inbeing together with these unexpected friendships. He enjoyed the next twenty minutes teasing and being teased by these men who had become as brothers to him.

“So, Reggie bit the matrimonial bullet,” Mad Dog said, “who you thinks gonna be next?”

“My money’s on Jones!” Moose exclaimed, raised his beer in toast, “he’s all sensitive and artsy.”

“How exactly does that equal married?” Jughead countered.

“Ladies love an artist,” Moose explained.

Jughead discreetly brought his heel down hard on Moose’s instep to the boisterously presented delight of Mad Dog.

“Dammit, Jones,” Moose bellowed and dusted at the top of his foot, “you got my new shoes dirty!”

“You know,” Mad Dog said after a long pull of his Corona, “I’d happily canter down the aisle if Jonesy here would let me have a go at JB.”

The comment was met by a punch to each arm from both Jughead and Moose respectively.

Sisters were off limits. Universal bro code.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the MC suddenly announced from the stage, “please welcome, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Reginald Mantle!”

The reception hall erupted into applause as Reggie entered with a radiant and blushing Veronica on his arm. Jughead put two fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. Reggie pointed at him as he passed with the biggest grin Jug thought he’d ever seen on his friend’s face. Across the crowd, he saw Betty smile.

After the speeches and toasts, Reggie spun Veronica onto the glossy, polished dancefloor as the bad struck up “ _To Be With You_ ” for their first dance.

At the halfway point of the ridiculously romantic song, the moment that Jughead had been equal parts dreading and waiting for came to be.

“Will the wedding party please join the newlyweds on the floor to complete the first dance?”

Jughead watched Mad Dog meet with Cheryl and as Moose took Midge into his arms. They all began to dance. No hesitation. No worries. It should be so simple. Jughead made his way to where Betty walked toward him. He held his hand out to her.

Betty eased into Jughead’s embrace and felt as though she’d finally come home. She felt the heat of his hand at her waist through the thin material of her dress. His grip was tight, but he held her a more than respectable distance from his body and she knew that he knew that Archie was watching their every move.

It took her a moment to gather the courage to look up into his eyes, but once she did, she was lost. She feared she would be lost forever. Of its own accord, her hand slid around from his shoulder to rest on his shoulder blade and her body moved in closer, lessened the distance between them.

Jughead’s eyes darted into the crowd where she knew Archie stood, probably with smoke coming out of his ears. “Not too close,” Jughead whispered.

“It feels like there are miles between us,” she countered.

She watched the pained expression that crossed his lovely face and felt it deep within her own self.

“I – ” he began, “I – I wish – ”

“Mind if I dance with my wife?”

Betty looked to where Archie has stormed the dancefloor and stood, arms crossed over his chest, and glared at them. Several people were staring slightly slack-jawed at the breach of etiquette. “Archie!” she hissed, “It’s the wedding party dance.”

“No,” Jughead stated, his cheeks flushed, “It’s fine, Betty. Here ya go, man. Betty, thanks for being a fantastic wedding buddy. I was – nice to meet you.”

And then he walked off the dancefloor.

Archie pulled Betty against him none-too-gently and she finished out the song with him.

Jughead was on his third beer of the night when Reggie found him.

“Holy shit, Jones,” he exclaimed and wrapped Jughead in a bearhug, “I’m fucking married!”

Jughead laughed and slapped him on the back, “You noticed that, huh?”

“I’m very observant, Jones.”

“Indeed.”

“Example, I noticed the bar is down to two meager bottles of champagne and the caterers have disappeared. Think you could check the kitchen for me?”

“All over it, big guy,” Jughead nodded, “now get back to your wife.”

“My wife!” Reggie bellowed, “I have a wife!”

The kitchen was more or less abandoned. A sterile, open room filled with clean white tole and stainless-steel appliances and trays of food but no people. No a soul. Jughead paused to shove a crab-stuffed pepper into his mouth, chewed it quickly, then called out, “Hello?”

Nada.

“If someone could just point me in the direction of the booze!” he said to no one. His eyes landed on a giant metal refrigerator, so he took a chance.

Bingo. Three cases of Moet.

He grabbed one, hauled it out, turned, and damn near dropped the entire damn thing. Betty had followed him. She stood less than six feet away. He set the case of champagne on the nearby prep table.

“You scared the hell out of me, Betty,” he said on a breathy chuckle.

Betty didn’t respond. She didn’t say anything. She simply closed the distance between them, rose to her tiptoes, and pressed her soft lips to his in the sweetest, most chaste kiss he’d ever had in his life.


	2. ivy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Here it is! Part two of my one-shot! LOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, WARNING - there are some dirty, sexy scenes in this chapter. I get very shy and self-conscious when I write these kinds of things so please be kind. (Yes, I am actually blushing right now.) 
> 
> The song for this chapter is "ivy" by Taylor Swift. It just...fits.

How’s one to know?

I’d live and die for moments that we stole

On begged and borrowed time

So tell me to run

Or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become

And drink my husband’s wine

Oh, goddam

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it’s been promised to another

Oh, I can’t

Stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows

And now I’m covered in you

And I’m covered in you

Chapter Two : ivy

When Betty eased away from him, far too soon for his liking, her closed eyelids opened and a languorous smile crossed her pretty mouth.

“I just needed to do that once, at least,” she whispered, her voice raspy and thick with desire.

“Not enough,” Jughead countered, cupped her perfect jaw in his hands and slammed his mouth to hers once more. She twisted her fists into the material of his jacket and he pushed her back hard against the metal fridge. She parted her plush lips and drew his tongue into her mouth, as greedy for him as he was for her. He broke from her mouth, dragged his teeth along the underside of her throat, nipped at her clavicle, then returned to the delicious depths of her mouth again. Betty grabbed his hand, brought it to cover her breast, rubbed her thigh against his painfully hard erection. She tangled her fingers into his hair at the same time she sank her teeth into his bottom lip. By the time, Jughead got enough control over himself to break the kiss, their breaths were coming in deep, almost guttural pants. He pressed his forehead to her sternum and slammed a hand into the fridge by her head. Once. Twice. Three times in quick succession.

Betty jumped when Jughead hit the refrigerator in obvious frustration. She hadn’t been fair in kissing him, she knew that. She did. But, God, when he’d pounced on her, it had been everything she’d dreamt about and then some.

She kept her hands in his hair as the two of them fought to regain their breath, the midnight strands like silk between her fingers. He finally drew back to look at her, his lips swollen, his pupils blown wide, and all she could think was that she’d never wanted anything the way that she wanted him.

He rested his forehead to hers, drew her hands from his hair and clasped them together between their chests, closed his eyes, and rubbed her nose with his own. He drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, as though he would inhale her very being into himself. He brushed one more sweet, soft kiss to her lips, then broke away from her, hoisted up the case of booze he’d been struggling with when she’d entered, and left the kitchen.

He kept his distance from her for the remainder of the night, but she could sense that he was as aware of her as she was of him. She understood his stand offish-ness, even agreed with its necessity – that didn’t make it less painful. They seemed to serve as one another’s counterbalance from there on in. If Betty moved to the left, Jughead moved to the right and so on. She knew the problem.

He was a good man.

He was a decent man with good morals and she’d tested them. He didn’t trust himself or her to not fall into temptation again.

He was also clearly a very smart man.

Less than two hours later, after Reggie and Veronica had been swept away in a classic stretch limo, Betty watched from the opposite side of the hall as Jughead gave her a small half smirk accompanied by a two-finger salute.

And then he was gone.

From the reception hall and from her small-town life. 

In the days that followed, life went back to normal. She went to work, she cooked dinner, she took her rings off when she cleaned. Sometimes she forgot to put them back on. Sometimes she left them off on purpose. It almost became more habit to be without the reminder of her lifelong commitment than to be with them.

If Archie noticed, he never said anything. But then, Archie had always preferred to ignore anything that resembled a problem rather than to confront it. Similarly, of course, Betty spent much of her life adapting to the problem rather than confront it so it had tended to work for them…until now.

“I think it’s time you stop with the birth control,” Archie said abruptly one night just as they sat down to a meatloaf dinner.

Betty couldn’t stop the startled gasp, “What?”

“We talked about trying for a baby,” he continued with a frightening lack of emotion, any kind of emotion, “I think it’s time.”

Betty’s skin felt too tight on her body. She was all of the sudden overly warm and she couldn’t seem to draw enough breath into her lungs. Still, she fought to maintain her composure; to not show her fear. It was the Cooper way. “I knew we were discussing the _possibility_ ,” she conceded, focused her eyes on her dinner plate, worried that if she met his gaze, he’d see what she knew would be almost feral panic, “I wasn’t aware that we’d reached a decision.”

He set down his fork with more force than necessary, “What’s there to be decided?”

“Having a child is a life-changing event, Archie,” she reasoned, “It isn’t something to just – do.”

“I don’t see the big deal,” Archie replied, which really just reenforced Betty’s belief that he didn’t know what he was talking about, “I mean, you’re not getting any younger.”

Betty drew back from that comment as though he’d physically hit her. Twenty-five was hardly old! Asshole.

“Tell you what,” Archie went on, oblivious to her reaction, pushed away from the table, “I’ll settle this real quick.”

Betty scrambled up from her own seat to chase after him as he stomped up the stairs. He burst into the master bathroom, ripped open the medicine cabinet, and Betty watched in abject horror as he dumped her birth control pills into the toilet and flushed it. He turned back to face her, leaned a hip against the sink, crossed his arms over his chest, and flashed a smug, self-satisfied smile.

Betty felt all of the emotion, fear, anger, love, pain, all of it, rapidly leave her body to be replaced with a hollow, not unpleasant numbness. She gave the husband that she had suddenly become completely indifferent to a blank look. “Were the dramatics really necessary, Arch? It’s fine. Whatever. Like you said, no big deal.”

She went to bed that night without finishing her dinner or clearing the dishes.

The next morning, she went to her doctor first thing and told him she’d lost her pills. She hid the refill in the inner pocket of her purse.

Two days later, the first text came.

It was 11:30 at night. Archie was snoring away at her side, Betty was lying awake as she stared at the horrible popcorn style ceiling and wondered what exactly she’d done with her life, when her phone suddenly lit up the darkened room from her nightstand.

Betty assumed it was Veronica. Since she’d returned from her honeymoon, she’d implemented a mandatory weekly girls’ night out dinner. In her words, since they were now “little married old ladies,” they needed time to get out and away from their husbands for a little while. Betty took that to mean that she wanted to get Betty away from Archie for a little while every week, and to be honest, Betty was all on board with that idea.

She figured the text was probably V with one of her rare bouts of sleeplessness. She’d text about possible dinner options for the next week’s outing. Since she was dealing with a little insomnia herself, she snatched the phone ready to recommend the new Mexican place in Greendale when she saw who the text was actually from and felt her heart damn near give out.

**J: Is it pathetic that it’s been three weeks and I can’t stop thinking about you?**

Betty eased herself from the bed, then darted into the bathroom and closed the door with a quiet _click_.

“Jug!” she sobbed after she’d dialed and he’d answered.

“Oh, God, baby,” he breathed, “don’t cry. Please, don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I just – I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again and I – I’m being ridiculous. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not ridiculous. You’re amazing and wonderful and beautiful and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Yeah,” Betty sniffed, “you said that already.”

Jughead chuckled, “You’ve ruined me, you know that, right?”

“Oh, Juggie, you have no idea.”

“I’ve written and deleted at least a hundred texts. Every time I told myself I need to leave you alone,” he said, “but I’m feeling weak, tonight.”

“You always text,” Betty demanded, “always. Never don’t text. If you’re options are “test” or “don’t text” always, always text.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes,” she said emphatically, “I mean, we’re friends, right?”

“Do all friends know how each other taste?”

“To be honest, I didn’t get to taste as much of you as I’d like…”

“Baby, you’re trying to kill me,” he chuckled but his tone had gone a little raspy, “that’s dangerous territory for us.”

“You’re right,” Betty agreed, “we should talk about unsexy things.”

“Unsexy things, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Ok,” he thought for a moment and for some reason it made Betty grin that he _had_ to take time to think of something unsexy, “I’m thinking of hiring a lawyer from Riverdale!”

There was triumph in his voice that he’d managed it. Betty laughed.

“Really? Anyone I know?”

“Cheryl Blossom.”

“She’s my cousin!”

There was a long, long pause that made Betty laugh loud enough that she covered her mouth with her palm to muffle the sound.

“I did not see that coming,” Jughead finally said.

Betty giggled, “Few people do. She’d much friendlier than she seems.”

“Why do I feel like you’re making that up?”

“If you feel that way, why do you want to hire her?”

“Because I feel like if you meet a lawyer that terrifies you to the very core of your being, you should hire them immediately so that they’re always on _your_ side.”

Betty thought on it, “I mean, I guess that’s logical.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

There was another, briefer pause, but even across the phone line, Betty could feel the electricity between them crackle.

“You should get some sleep, baby,” he said.

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“You should. It’s late.”

“You’re not gonna disappear on me again, are you?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

So, Betty’s life became just a fraction more bearable. Jughead text her every day and called her almost every other. They talked about every thing under the sun. He told her about his childhood in Toledo; neglectful mother who more or less abandoned him when he was eleven. His alcoholic father who was currently fifteen years sober and their relationship was better than it had ever been. He had a sister that he adored and doted on. And of course, every conversation, he regaled her with the stories and tales of his faithful companion, Hot Dog.

Betty opened up to him about her parents’ tendencies toward the critical. How she always felt just a little bit lesser than her older siblings in their eyes. He assured her that wasn’t true but also recognized that her feeling were her own and she didn’t need anyone else to validate them.

The romantic escalation of their conversations happened – gradually.

“Okay,” Betty laughed into the phone. It was her lunch hour. She’d kicked off her pumps and stretched out in the backseat of her car, her head on an armrest, her feet rested on the door, hung outside of the open car window, “I need to understand how the nicknames Jughead and Jellybean came to be.”

She heard the squeak of Jughead’s chair on the other end of the phone. She imagined he’d leaned back and kicked his own sockclad feet up onto his messy desk, “Well, you know my unfortunate given name?”

“I do.”

“JB shares it,” he explained.

“I’m sorry,” Betty choked, “what?”

“Well,” Jughead felt the need to clarify, “the female version of it.”

“Wha – what the hell is the female version of Forsythe?”

Jughead took a breath, built the anticipation. Betty smiled to herself and thought that he was so theatrical without even trying. Leave it to the best-selling author to take a dramatic pause in a real-life conversation.

“Forsythia.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“What,” Betty’s voice was so loud and filled with joy, that a couple of passersby turned to peak at her through the window, “was your father thinking?”

“I like to tell myself the alcohol made him do it. And originality has never been his strong suit.”

Betty grinned, “That all went to you, huh?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, I hate to be the one to break tradition but we will not be naming our child any variation of Forsythe.”

The silence that met her statement was deafening.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, scooted to a sitting position, and pressed a palm to her flushed face.

“Bet – ”

“I’m sorry,” Betty exclaimed, “It just came out!”

There was another meaningful silence.

“I, uh, I thought you didn’t want kids.”

“No,” Betty admitted, she looked around for her shoes, “I don’t want Archie’s kids.”

Jughead’s laugh on the far end of the line was thick and awkward and husky, “Are you saying you want me to give you babies, baby?”

Betty let her forehead thunk against the passenger seat in front of her, “Are you really surprised, Juggie?”

“Goddam, Betty,” he hissed, “you sure know how to feed a guy’s ego at the same time kicking him in the gut.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, “it’s…amazing. I just – I can’t – ”

“I know,” she cut him off, “I have to get back to work. Talk later?”

“You know we will.”

“Bye, Juggie.”

“Have a good day, baby.”

That night, at dinner with Veronica, Betty struggled with an existential debate. She wanted to tell her best friend about the way she was feeling; it was so new and wonderful and she wanted to share that with her V. At the same time, this thing between herself and Jughead felt so…delicate. She had the overwhelming urge to protect it from the outside world; from every facet of the outside world…including her V.

“So,” Veronica said with a smile and brought Betty back to the present, “what’s been happening with you?”

“Actually,” Betty started as Veronica sawed into her chicken masala, “there is something that I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”

Betty plucked at her fingers, reached for her wine, took a long sip. She couldn’t explain her hesitancy. Veronica would be on her side. Veronica was always on her side. Everything just felt so heavy and wrong and suffocating. How could she explain to her childhood friend that all at once, her life seemed tragic and listless. Empty. Unfulfilled.

“Yeah…” Betty nodded, “Archie wants us to have a baby.”

Veronica’s silverware clattered to her plate. A few of the other patrons looked their direction.

“And now people think we just broke up,” Betty said with a small smile.

“Please,” Veronica spat, “I would cause a much larger scene if you ever tried to leave me. However,” she threw her arm into the air, “garcon!”

The server rushed to their sides. The benefits of attending dinner with a Lodge.

“How may I be of service, Ms. Lodge?”

“Mrs. Mantle, now, darling,” she corrected, “and my friend and I are gonna need something stronger than the Cab, though it is lovely. I’m thinking…vodka. Two dirty martinis. Don’t skimp on the olives. Thank you!”

He was off like a shot to do her bidding. As soon a he was out of earshot, Veronica smiled at Betty, but the smile was tight, forced. And it didn’t reach her somewhat manic eyes. She clapped her beautifully manicured hands together once, “So, am I gonna be an auntie?”

Betty shook her head, “I don’t think we’re ready. I mean – do you think we’re ready for a child?”

“Let’s – wait for our drinks.”

The first tear escaped without Betty’s notice until it had dripped down to her chin. She wiped it away with one hand as Veronica reached across the table to grab her other. The server returned, set down their drinks, and then, seeming to understand their need for privacy, vanished without a word. Betty grabbed the cocktail and drank half of it in one gulp. Veronica took a more delicate sip.

“Okay, brutal best friend honesty?” V started.

Betty nodded, “I expect nothing less from you, V.”

“I think you, my sweet, wonderful B, are going to be a wonderful mother one day,” Veronica started, “but Archie…Archie is still himself a child.”

The tears came from both eyes and Betty nodded her agreement.

“But…” Veronica continued, “something tells me that there is more to all this than a question of whether or not you’re ready.”

Betty wiped her cheeks, sniffed, and downed the rest of her martini. Veronica nodded as though she understood everything.

“Not ready to talk about it, huh?” she said wisely.

Instead of speaking, Betty smiled a sad, upside down smile, the corners of her mouth turned down rather than up.

“Okay,” Veronica said, reached over and patted Betty’s hand again, “it’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready.”

Six months. It had been almost six months since Veronica’s wedding. Six months since Archie had started trying to force a child on her, unknowing that she had continued taking her birth control in secret.

Six months of constant phone calls and text messages with Jughead Jones. The only true light in her otherwise dark existence.

Betty sat behind her office desk, along, and scrolled through Instagram on her phone. As she scrolled, she grew more and more agitated before she finally closed the app and dialed the source of her frustration.

He answered after the first ring…as he always did.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Okay, Juggie,” she snapped, her irritation evident in her tone, “I’m gonna need you to explain your social media to me.”

There was a pause before he response with an oh-so-intelligent, “Um…”

Betty rolled her eyes despite the fact that he couldn’t see her, “Okay, so, I follow you on Instagram. I have for years, since your first book. I never thought anything of it but…well, I just did a deep dive and there are _no_ pictures of you, Jug! No one! It’s all book covers and tour dates and upcoming releases and – ”

“That’s because it’s not me!” Jughead laughed. It was his loud laugh. The one that made his eyes squint up and his dimples show and his cheeks plump up so he looked like a little kid.

“What?” Betty asked.

There was that laugh again, “I don’t touch that thing.”

“But it’s verified!” Betty argued, “There’s a freaking blue checkmark!”

“Well, yeah, I did that part. My agent and publicist deal with all that.” Jughead explained, then mimicked, “Jones, you _have_ to have a social media presence! So, I said fine, you do it. I can’t stand all that stuff.”

“Well,” Betty huffed, “then tell them they need a promotional shot of you or something!”

“Why?” Jughead laughed.

Betty snapped, “Because I need a picture of you!”

“Oh, yeah?” he said. His laughter had changed to the soft laugh, the one that brightened his eyes and was accompanied by a little bashful half-smile.

Embarrassed and grateful that he couldn’t see her blush, “Yeah.”

“All you had to do was ask, baby.”

A second later, Betty’s phone vibrated with a text messaged. Attached was a picture of his perfect face, that boyish little smirk on his lips, a single shiny curl fallen into his laughing green eyes.

“Feel special,” he said as Betty returned the phone to her ear, “I think that is the first selfie that I have ever taken. And I expect reciprocity, Cooper.”

Later that day, Betty sent him a picture of her in a lowcut v-neck sweater from a very strategic angle. A single text was her reply.

**J: I think I’m having a heart attack.**

Pictures became a regular thing for them from that point on.

He sent her pictures of Hot Dog and himself in a dog park. She sent him a full-length picture of herself all dressed up before one of her weekly dinners with Veronica.

Her very favorite though, was when she opened her Instagram feed to see a picture of him looking dapper in a well fit charcoal gray suit. He stood with one hand in his pocket and one elbow leaned against a stack of copies of “ _The Killing Tapes_ ” which had just reached number eight of the best sellers list. It had more than two-million likes and comments along the lines of “Dayum!” and “How did I not know F P Jones III was so hot? Did you know he was this hot? Dead. I’m dead.”

Betty liked the post as well and then sent the “dayum” man a text.

**Betty: Love the insta pic!**

**J: You made my publicist’s day.**

**J: But now she wants to post more. Like me sitting at my desk writing and shit like that.**

**J: I blame you for this.**

**Betty: You look sexy in that suit.**

**J: Shut up.**

**Betty:** **😉** ** <3 **

It was a week later that Jughead didn’t call her during the day. He didn’t text her either. Betty found that it made her anxious and a little jumpy. She told herself that he was just busy, probably with his editors or his agent or something.

Finally, that night he text her. It was a lot later than he usually text. After midnight – almost 1am.

**J: I went on a date tonight.**

Betty had to choke down her panic and a bit of bile that rose in her throat at the thought of him out with another one, even as the hypocrisy screamed in her face in the form of the snoring husband at her side.

**J: Betty?**

**Betty: I’m processing.**

**J: I didn’t enjoy it.**

**Betty: Am I allowed to say good?**

**J: This can’t be healthy, Betty.**

**J: It was a set up. The date. A friend of a friend kind of thing. I didn’t go out for her.**

**Betty: Okay.**

**J: I just didn’t want you to think I had.**

**Betty: …**

**J: The whole time I felt like I was being unfaithful.**

**J: To you.**

**J: I was being unfaithful to you.**

**Betty: I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.**

**J: You don’t have to say anything.**

**Betty: Everything you’re feeling, I’m feeling it, too.**

**Betty: You know that, don’t you?**

**J: Yeah.**

**J: That makes it that much harder.**

**J: I wish I could believe that you were just messing with me. Then, maybe, I could move on. Forget you.**

**Betty: Do you want to move on?**

**Betty: Do you want to forget me?**

Betty pressed a closed fist to her quivering mouth, struggled not to cry. She should go to the bathroom so as not to risk waking Archie, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care anymore.

She was hurting Jughead.

Then, his reply came through and she breathed a sigh of both relief and heartbreak.

**J: No.**

The next morning, Betty sat on the edge of the bathtub, lotioned her legs as Archie brushed his teeth. All she could think of was Jughead and how he told her that what they were doing, what they had couldn’t be healthy.

And he was right.

“Arch,” she said, “are you happy?”

“What do you mean, babe?” he said around his toothbrush.

Betty closed her eyes in annoyance, “Don’t call me that. I mean, are you happy with – this? With us? With life?”

He spat into the sink and turned to face her.

Betty took a deep breath, “Because I’m not.”

Betty watched as Archie seemed to process what she’d just said. She felt as though the burden of carrying around that secret, of keeping her unhappiness locked away deep inside of her, the stress and the guilt and the misery, it all seemed to have lifted from her chest with those simple words. She was finally being honest with herself and honest with the man that she was married to. Maybe – just maybe – if they could start a candid and authentic dialogue with each other, finally be truthful about how they felt and what they wanted, they could carefully take apart their farce of a union and salvage the broken pieces of what at one time been a beautiful and innocent friendship. Maybe Archie would surprise her by being mature and thoughtful.

But Archie was nothing if not predictable in his childish petulance.

“Everything will be better once you’re pregnant,” he said and turned back to his morning routine as though he’d said nothing more than “we’re out of milk.”

“I’m sorry,” Betty replied, her voice slow, her tone as even as she could manage at the moment, “are you saying that a _baby_ will – _fix_ – our marital problems?”

Archie gave her a pointed look, the same look he typically reserved for when he was commanding her to ‘perform’ for a prospective client, “We don’t have _marital problems_ , Betty. But yes, I think that starting our family, giving you a baby to take care of and dote on will help you to feel more – settled.”

Giving _you_ a baby to take care of…

He had removed himself from the equation with the exception of the actual conception of the child. Did he even realize that when he said ‘baby’ he was speaking of an actual living human? Or was he thinking of it in the abstract? Like a new toy? Or a puppy? Betty felt sick to her stomach.

“That’s – that’s not a reason to have a baby, Archie! A child is not a – quick fix for a relationship that isn’t working!”

Archie got that stubborn tilt to his chin and Betty knew he was about to say something obtuse and borderline loathsome.

“We work fine,” he snarled.

“No, we don’t, Archie,” Betty countered, trying to maintain her calm, “What part of this seems like it’s working to you? We’re miserable.”

Archie swiped some deodorant under his arms and left the bathroom, tossed over his shoulder, “Like I said, we’re fine.”

Betty followed after him, her fingertips pressed hard to her temples. Maybe if she pushed hard enough, she could force the clarity from her own mind into his obstinate brain. “I’m trying to have a real conversation with you, Archie. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not happy. I’m trying to be honest with you.”

He plopped down on the side of the bed with a bounce and started to put on his socks and snapped, “No! You’re looking for problems where there aren’t any.”

Betty countered one more time with, “Archie, I’m. Not. Happy.”

“And I already told you that I have a solution to that.”

“That’s not a solution!” she pleaded, “It will only cause a bigger issue down the road and hurt an innocent child in the process.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!” Betty exclaimed, then recentered herself. She took a deep, steadying breath, and with great solemnity, played the only trump card she had, “Archie, I – I have feelings for someone else.”

Archie paused in his movements of getting dressed, crossed over to stand directly in front of her, looked her dead in the eyes and said, “You’ll get over it.”

Then he left the room.

Betty tried to go about her day as normal after that nightmare of a conversation, but after her third nearly hysterical breakdown at the office, she claimed a headache and went home early to have some time to herself. She wandered through her empty, quiet house on a kind of autopilot. She stood in the doorway that served as the portal between the living room and the kitchen, let her gaze sweep across the rooms; this ‘home,’ this empty shell of a residence that she had come to loathe.

The place was a lie. It was a tangible symbol of the prison that her life had become and she resented it, hated it, needed to escape from it.

As she stared at the possessions of the house, her emotions took a turn. The sadness began to churn and twist in her gut; it started to morph into anger. Anger was a pleasanter emotion. It was warm, hot even. It heated her blood and brought a flush to her cheeks. Her entire life she had lived for _other people._ She’d done exactly what had been expected of her. She’d been well behaved, made straight As, been a cheerleader and the homecoming queen; and for what exactly? A dead-end job in a lie of a life with a man she didn’t love. That was her reward for doing everything that had ever been asked of her.

Maybe it was time she did a little something for herself.

She poured herself a glass of red wine, climbed the stairs to her bedroom, slipped out of her clothes and underwear. She pulled on a soft cotton sleep-shirt and crawled into bed. After having taken just a moment to appreciate the smooth slide of the sheets against her skin, she settled back against her pillows, and then for the first time, pulled up her Facetime app.

He answered almost immediately. She’d known that he would.

He wore a slightly rumpled blue button up that unbuttoned halfway down his olive toned chest, his hair was tasseled, probably from his own fingers, and he was absolutely beautiful.

“Holy shit!” Jughead grinned, “what’d I do to deserve a faceti – Betty, baby, what’s wrong?”

Betty wiped a stray tear from her cheek but the smile that she offered him was genuine and unforced.

“Tell me what happened, baby. What can I do? What do you need?”

Betty couldn’t help but laugh a little manically at that. He was so good, so pure. “You,” she answered simply, “I just needed to see you.”

“God,” he said and Betty watched on her screen as he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand rough over that glorious hair. She caught just a quick glimpse of his desk as he swiveled back and forth. It was as messy and cluttered as she’d imagined in would be and that for whatever reason made her so happy. “You scared me,” he went on, “calling me like this, baby. Are you in bed? Are you sick? I can postmates some soup for you.”

Hundreds of miles away and all he wanted to do was take care of her.

And today…she was going to let him.

“There is something you could do for me, Juggie,” she rasped even as she slipped a hand beneath the covers, her fingers caressed her already slick folds with ease.

“Anything,” Jughead answered.

“Tell me you want me,” Betty said, unembarrassed by the borderline desperate plea in her voice, “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

Betty watched the light brighten in his green eyes as they became more alert, hyper-focused. Intense. “Baby,” he said, his voice broke a little, just this side of unsure, “what are you doing?”

She smirked at him, kicked the covers away from her legs, “You wanna see?”

Quickly, so he could only catch a peek, she tilted the camera of her phone downward so he could see where she touched herself.

“Fuck!” he growled and she heard the distinct creak of his desk chair as it snapped forward, “show me again, baby. Open up for me. Show me how wet you are for me.”

Betty knew that she was flushed bright red from a combination of shyness and arousal, but she didn’t care even the slightest. She angled the phone down once more.

Jughead groaned, “God, look at that sweet, dripping cunt. You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, baby? You need my help? You need me to help you cum? Take a little of that edge off?”

“Yes,” Betty gasped, already close as she worked herself harder to his words, the sound of his voice, “Yes, please, Juggie.”

“If I were there, baby, I’d worship that sweet little nub of your clit. I’d kiss it, and lick it, and nip it. Would you like that, baby?”

“Yes!”

“I’d suck on it, too. Not hard though. Just a little. Just barely. I’d want you begging before I gave you the pressure you needed. Are you ready to beg for me, baby?”

“Please, Juggie, please.”

“Say it again, baby,” he rasped, his breath coming in hard pants. Betty knew he was just as close as she was to coming apart.

“Please!” she cried.

“Push hard for me, baby,” Jug grunted, “Let go. Let is all go.”

The pressure built to a beautiful crescendo just behind her bellybutton until it had no other option but to explode in a cacophony of lights behind her eyes as every single muscle in her body tensed and relaxed again with her climax.

When she came back to herself, she looked at her phone screen to see that Jughead had removed his shirt and used it to clear away the remnants of his own release from his stomach. When his gaze returned to the screen, Betty bit down on her lip and fought off a sudden wave of bashfulness.

“So,” she said, “that just happened.”

He chuckled and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes,” he concurred, “yes, it certainly did.”

“Jug?”

“Yes, baby?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Christ, Betty, I’m so fucking in love with you, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Okay,” Betty nodded, pulled her covers up over her temporarily sated body, tucked herself in, “that’s what I needed to hear.”

On the screen, he blushed, looked askance, self-conscious, “Good to know I’m not alone in the love department.”

She laughed at that; a full-bodied laugh that started all the way down in her belly. Could he not tell? Did he not see? She was completely and utterly gone for him. Body, heart, mind, and soul. She was his.

“Not even a little bit alone, Juggie,” she replied.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, his eyes so incredibly soft that Betty had to once again suppress the urge to weep at the unfairness of it all, “I wish I could be there to hold you.”

“I want that, too.”

That night, when Archie arrived home from work, he found a takeout pizza on the table rather than a homecooked meal. He also found that his wife had moved a large portion of her belongings into the guest room. The woman herself was propped up in the guest bed, paging through a well-read copy of _The Killing Tapes._

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Archie demanded when he burst into the room.

Betty didn’t look up from her book, turned another page, “A pastime most often referred to as reading.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

“Then you should be clearer in your phrasing,” she responded, again without looking away from her reading.

“Why is your stuff in this room?” he continued, “Why are _you_ in this room?”

“I told you this morning that I’m not happy with our relationship, Archie,” Betty explained, “You didn’t want to listen to me. So, I’m taking a little space.” 

“You’re my wife, dammit!”

“At the moment.”

Archie’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Betty took a breath, thought of Jughead, his eyes, his smile, his care, “It means, Archie, that I want a divorce.”

Archie stood stalk still for what felt like an eternity. His eyes bugged a little disturbingly, his mouth hung agape to an almost comical degree. Betty was fully certain as to why he was so surprised, honestly. She’d told him! She stated it as plainly as she could. She’d said she wasn’t happy. She’d said there was someone else. He hadn’t wanted to hear her. Finally, after a seeming millennia, he blinked back to cognizance, and sneered, “Well, you can’t have one.”

It was Betty’s turn to blink stupidly. She sat her book to her side on the bed, careful to mark her spot, and finally locked eyes with her husband, “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not giving you a divorce,” he repeated, “end of discussion.”

He turned and left the room. Betty lunged off of the bed and leaned through the doorway to shout after him, “It is not the end of discussion!”

Then, as the exclamation point to her proclamation, she slammed the bedroom door as loudly as she possibly could.

Over the course of the next two days, anytime Betty tried to corner Archie to talk to him, to try again to explain that she hadn’t been happy for a long time, he’d simply walked away from her and the conversation that he didn’t want to have. She tried to sugar coat it. Tried the whole, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing. He had none of it. She tried to state it plainly again. ‘I’m not in love with you anymore. I love someone else.’ Archie heard nothing.

She felt as if they had entered into a kind of war. They’d each raised their flags, made their intentions known, and it had come to a tense, monosyllabic battle of wills to see who would surrender first. For Betty, she felt as though she’d unwittingly fallen into what would be the fight of her life.

It was a strange situation that Betty found herself in, to say the least. She couldn’t talk about it – with anyone.

She couldn’t talk to Archie for the obvious reasons. She couldn’t talk to anyone in her family because they would come at her with a million questions that she either couldn’t or _wouldn’t_ have the answer to. She couldn’t talk to Veronica because with only the best of intentions, her dearest friend would try to _fix_ things. And she couldn’t talk to Jughead about it because she didn’t want to get his hopes up until she had more to go on.

However, it seemed that anytime Betty was ready to sink into despair or total depression over the bleakness of her current lot in life, Jughead managed to do something that would rekindle her fire and determination to be happy; to be with him.

**J: The heroine of my new book is a green-eyed vixen with an unflappable spirit and untamable naughty streak. I may have to get you to sign a likeness waiver.** **😉**

The text had come as she’d been seated in her dusty office trailer. She’d been staring at her accounts excel spreadsheet and wondering if she’d ever find a way out of this miserable existence.

The message restarted her hop and tenacity.

**Betty: You saying I inspire you, Jones?**

**J: Oh, in so many ways, Cooper.**

The small but essential exchange brought a smile to her face and a lightness to her chest just as the office door swung open with more force that usual. Veronica glided in, thunked her designer bag down on Betty’s desk, and propped her hands firmly on her hips. It was her ‘I’m-fed-up-with-bullshit-and-will-get-my-way-with-no-argument-from-you’ stance.

“V?” Betty said with care.

“We’re going to lunch,” Veronica stated.

“Don’t we already have dinner plans for tonight?”

“Yes,” her best friend admitted, “and we’re still doing that. But I’m having a bad day and I want my Betty.”

A few different things went through Betty’s mind in that moment: the pile of work on her desk that needed her attention, Archie’s stubborn refusal to discuss their sham of a marriage, how well the company was doing and she was still trapped there, how it was mainly thanks to _her_ that the company was in the favorable position that it was in and she was still trapped there, and finally, Jughead’s sweet smile.

“You know what,” she said and locked her computer screen, “screw it! Let’s go get day drunk.”

Veronica’s typically perfect, unreadable poker face slipped into surprise for a heartbeat only, but Betty caught it. She had been expecting more of an argument. “Who are you and what have you done with my Bettykins?”

Betty grinned, “She’s right here. She tired. She’s fed up. And she needs a damn drink.”

“Hell, yeah, she does!” Veronica cheered, grabbed her purse, looped her arm through Betty’s, and led her to the door of the trailer, “No worries! Andre is driving!”

The girls ended up at the Mexican place in Greendale that they had planned on for dinner. They were each two margaritas in before they’d even finished off the complimentary chips and salsa. With the tequila and salt sitting warm in her belly, Betty looked at her best friend, her V.

“So,” she asked, “why had you had a bad day?”

Veronica waved a manicured hand in front of her face as though to bat away a pesky fly, “Oh, half of it is just me being whiney and the other half of it was that I got to speak to daddy dearest this morning.”

“Well,” Betty nodded, “the daddy thing is fairly self-explanatory for a bad mood. How is Hiram?”

“Evil incarnate,” Veronica answered without the slightest of hesitation, “but he loves me and for whatever reason, I love him, too, so we’ll call it a push.”

Hiram Lodge was and always had been a shrewd business man; however, his _way_ of doing business was not always on the legal side of things, never mind the ethical side of things. His underground ties went deep, dark, and damn near unbreakable. He terrified most people.

Betty just thought he was a dick.

But, like she’d just said, he was Veronica’s father and her best friend loved him.

“So,” Betty went on, leaving the dark and twisty father figure in the shadows, “what about the other half?”

“It’s stupid,” Veronica shrugged, toyed with a tortilla chip.

“If it upset you, V, it’s not stupid.”

“It’s just – well, I have business trip coming up. I leave Friday, right? Well, today, Reg finds out that he can’t go with me because fucking Marty says he needs him for some bullshit inventory project. Like, what project? It’s a car lot! The inventory is kinda hard to miss!”

“Marty’s an asshole,” Betty agreed, “this is not new information.”

“It’s just knowing that he did it out of spite, you know,” Veronica sighed, “so, now I get to go to New York alone and – ”

“I’ll go!”

The words were out of Betty’s mouth before she really even processed what she was saying, but she didn’t regret the declaration even a little bit.

“Really?” Veronica asked, her eyes alight and just a little glassy.

Betty nodded with unconcealed enthusiasm, “I’ve never been to New York City.”

“I mean, you’ll have to amuse yourself during the day while I’m in meetings but – ”

“I’m sure I can – figure something out.”

Betty made her hold off until Thursday night before she ventured into the master bedroom to get her suitcase. Archie was in the garage which he had transformed into a workout room. She’d wanted to give him as little advanced notice of her trip as possible because she had a fairly clear prediction as to how he would react.

He entered the room wiping his sweaty face with a dingy towel just as she’d managed to pull the cumbersome wheely bag down from the top shelf in the closet. He was sweat soaked and his complexion was ruddier that usual from his obvious exertion and at the sight of his somewhat estranged wife with her luggage, something almost frightening flashed in his eyes.

“Good God, what are you doing now?” he demanded, his tone angry. His hands curled into fist like a boxer anxious for a fight.

Betty cast him a withering glance, “I’m going to New York with V.”

“Like hell you are!” Archie exclaimed and flung the towel from around his neck across the room.

He moved to reach for the suitcase at her hip and Betty shoved him back a step with both hands to his chest. She her palms on the thighs of her sweatpants when they came away damp with his sweat. “Why do you care?” she spat, “We barely even speak anymore!”

“I need you at the office.”

“Oh my God!” Betty cried out, pushed her palms into her eye sockets, “Of course, this is about the company and not the crumbling car wreck that is our marriage!”

“You have work to do,” Archie went on as though she hadn’t spoken.

“Archie,” Betty said slowly, evenly, “I need some time away from you – away from everything.”

“I said no,” he sneered.

Betty shrugged at him, “I wasn’t asking for your permission.”

“You have responsibilities here! You are my _wife,_ dammit!”

“No, Archie,” Betty said and there was an almost overwhelming sense of sadness for what had become of her and her childhood friend. She’d known she was done with him romantically, but in that moment, she knew that she’d have to be done with him completely. It was very finite and very sad. “I’m not your wife. I’m your prisoner.”

“You can’t just –”

“I can. I am,” she countered, “How are you gonna stop me? Divorce me? Please, divorce me. Please. I’m not in love with you anymore. You know this. Set me free.”

Archie closed the distance between them, his eyes flat. Empty. Like a shark’s. For the first time in her life, Betty felt herself a little afraid of him. But she refused to back down. This marriage was killing them – both of them – even if he refused to see it. He stopped mere inches away from her, leaned in until his face was right in front of her own. She could feel his hot, damp breath against her cheeks in puffs and had to fight not to cringe away from it.

“Have fun in New York with Veronica,” he hissed. His voice carried a forced lightness that somehow felt more menacing that if he’d shouted the words at her. “And when you get back, you’re moving back in here,” he pointed to the queen-sized bed that they’d used to share, “and we’re gonna have that baby.”

Betty felt her face crumple under his stare as her entire being filled with a kind of hopelessness. She’d been wrong before when she’d thought that maybe she knew Archie too well. He’d always been selfish, like he believes the earth and sun and stars all revolved around his thoughts and feelings, but _this_ – this was a new level of asshole even for him.

He was never going to let her do. Not willingly. The realization struck her in the heart like a splinter, lodged itself there and refused to budge.

He left the room and Betty willed herself out of her rapidly darkening thoughts. She began cramming her suitcase full.

Full to bursting.

She didn’t even consciously realize it herself at the time, but she was packing much, much more than she’d need for just a few days away.

If there as anyone on the planet who wouldn’t bat an eye at her monstrously overstuffed luggage, it was Veronica Lodge.

Betty had offered repeatedly to reimburse Veronica for the ticket that she had more or less usurped, but of course, V being V, she would hear nothing of it. She had simply led Betty to their first-class seats and broken down her upcoming itinerary for the trip.

“So, since I’m still in the love-bubble of newly wedded bliss and will not be engaging in a torrid, but lusty affair with you, despite the depths of my eternal love and your fabulous ass, I did switch from a king suite to two adjoining rooms. I do have a dinner meeting tonight, basically a corporate meet-n-greet, so I’ll probably be out until well after you’ve tucked in for the night. I hate it, but what can you do? There is a precious little Italian bistro less than a block away from the hotel if you feel like popping out for dinner, or of course the five-star room service. I have a few meetings early tomorrow, as well but I should be finished up by around 2pm. I figure we can do some shopping, grab some dinner, maybe see a show!”

“That sounds great, V.”

Veronica considered her for a long moment, swirled her wine around in her glass that the flight attendant had recently provided, “Okay, B. Now that we’re en route, don’t get me wrong, Betty-boop, because I am absolutely thrilled that you are with me but – what brought this on?”

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, B!” Veronica went on, “You’re a planner. You don’t just – up and take a trip at the spur of the moment. It just isn’t who you are – and that’s not a bad thing! It just is what it is. So – I repeat – what’s going on?”

Betty shrugged, took a sip of her own wine, “Just needed to get away.”

“From?”

“From Riverdale. From life. From Archie,” she hesitated after that, then, “I moved into the guest bedroom.”

Veronica choked on her chardonnay, coughed, slapped herself in the chest three times, then looked at Betty on a gasp, “I’m sorry, what?”

Betty plucked at her fingernails, chewed on her bottom lip, nodded, “For about a week, now. Maybe a little longer.”

“And you’re just now telling me?”

“I didn’t want to make a big thing of it,” Betty explained, “I just – I just couldn’t stay in the same room with him anymore; in the same bed. He doesn’t listen to me. It’s like he’s got this mental picture of what a marriage should be, what a family should be and – and the picture isn’t me anymore. Maybe it never really was.”

Veronica sat back in her seat with a jolt, “Wow.”

“So, this came at the perfect time,” Betty continued, “I’ve been needing some space. A little time away from Archie and his – schemes. So, when you said you had the spare ticket, I jumped at the chance. Don’t feel used. I’m so sorry.”

Veronica grabbed Betty’s hand in her own, “Of course, I don’t feel used. I’m thrilled now more than I was before. Maybe it was meant to be. But I refuse to give thanks for anything that stems from one of Marty Mantle’s douchebag vendettas.”

“Understood.”

“I love you, B.”

“I love you, V.”

“Good,” Veronica nodded and patted Betty on the wrist, “now. I’m going to sleep. Wake me when we land.”

“You got it.”

There was a tall man in a dapper black suit and hat with a sign that read simply ‘Ms. Lodge’ that awaited them at the baggage claim of JFK airport. The gentleman identified himself as a Mr. Saunderson. He took charge of their substantial luggage and led the two young women to a large, shiny black town car. As they were whisked away through New York City traffic toward their hotel, Betty peered through the amazingly clean window up, up, up at all the towering buildings that they passed. It was hard not to be just a smidge overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it all. Logically, she knew that New York City was home to some of the tallest skyscrapers in the country, but know that on an intellectual level and seeing it in reality had very different effects. She felt very small as she stared out at all of the hustle and bustle of the vibrant city outside.

Something sizzled in the sir; an energy; an electricity. She wondered if it stemmed from something as simple as the knowledge that she was in the same city that _he_ was in. No longer were they separated by miles upon miles upon miles – he was as close as a cab ride.

When they arrived at the hotel, two very eager young men, boys really, in red vests appeared as though by magic to cart their bags away and up to their rooms. The lobby alone was so ornate, so utterly breathtaking with its white marble tiled floors, rode-gold columns that stretched to the cathedral ceiling, and a crystal chandelier the gleaned and glistened in the ambient lighting, that Betty almost tripped over her own feet as she attempted to crane her neck upwards take in every detail.

Veronica place a steadying hand on her elbow and smirked, “I know. This place is practically a work of art. It even makes _me_ a little dizzy.”

The check-in process was such that Betty had to stifle an inelegant snort with the back of her hand. It more or less consisted of an older gentleman with silver hair, gold spectacles, and manners worthy of _Downton Abbey_ clutching one of Veronica’s dainty little hands between both of his own and praising, “Ms. Lodge, it is such a _privilege_ to have you staying with us again.”

As the elevator doors closed and gave them their privacy, Betty immediately teased, “Can I expect this level of ass-kissing everywhere we go in New York?”

Veronica looked predictably smug, “For the most part.”

“What’s it like to be you?”

“On this trip, you’re about to find out, Betty-Boop.”

The suite was a dream with plush pale blue carpet, soft gray chairs, dark cherry wood bedside tables and dressers, and a large soft bed with a fluffy white duvet cover. Betty had only just flipped open the lid of her suitcase when the door that connected her room to Veronica’s sprung open and the fiery little brunette strode in.

“How’s the room? Do you love it?” Veronica asked, “I’m determined that this trip will be amazing!”

Betty smiled, genuine warmth and affection for this amazing person that she had been lucky enough to befriend in her youth soaked from practically every cell in her body. It caused the smallest tinge of guilt for what she had planned, but not quite enough to deter her. She was going to do something that was just for her for once.

“Okay, so,” Veronica went on, “while New York is basically a giant grid, it is actually quite easy to get turned around. If you decide to go somewhere, take a hotel car, okay?”

Betty rolled her eyes with fondness, “Yes, mom.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Veronica laughed, “I’m gonna shower the plane smell off of me and get ready for my meeting.”

Betty waited until she heard the water of the shower run, then she crept into Veronica’s room, pulled her friend’s address book from her purse, and flipped to section J.

Once Veronica had left for her meeting/dinner, Betty’s real preparation began. She showered, shaved, curled her hair and eyelashes. She lotioned and creamed and applied her makeup with care. The dress she chose was short despite the chill of the outside air; the heels were high and uncomfortable but did amazing things for her calves and ass.

Jughead had called a few times and sent a few text messages throughout the day but she hadn’t replied.

9:47am

**J: Hey gorgeous. Good morning. Got a coffee meeting with my editor. Time to listen to him tell me again that I use too many damn semi-colons and commas.**

**J: How do you explain to a grammar-nazi that it represents a pause in thought?**

1:01pm

**J: He kept me there for 2 hours.**

**J: 2 HOURS, Betty!**

**J: Who does that?**

3:35pm

**J: Where are you?**

**J: I miss you.**

7:02pm

**J: Hey, baby. I’m guessing you’ve been busy all day. Just message me when you can. I’m thinking about you.**

She felt a little guilt that she’d ignored him all day, but she couldn’t respond. She _couldn’t_. She didn’t want to give herself away.

She called reception for a car and was assured that it would be waiting at the front of the hotel as soon as she was ready.

Betty didn’t think she’d ever been more ready for anything in her entire life.

She gave the driver the address that she’d snapped a picture of and thirty minutes later, she was standing outside of a charming brick apartment building as she tried with everything in her not to hyperventilate. She located the name ‘Jones’ on one of the buzzers and stared at it for probably five full minutes while her breath escaped her lips in little white puffs of mist. She had just raised her hand, her finger hovered over the button. Before she pushed it, the door of the building opened.

An older woman with red hair emerged and offered Betty a welcoming smile, “Are you trying to get inside, dear?”

Betty couldn’t speak, so she just nodded her ascent and the kindly woman held the door open for her.

And just like that, Betty found herself on another elevator that whirred and clanked its way up to the fifth floor of the building. Her throat felt tight. Her stomach was in knots. It seemed that everything in her life had been leading her to that moment. It had taken her both so long and so little a time to actually get to her destination. A portion of her mind couldn’t help but wonder if this was all a dream. Would she wake up in a few minutes to find a snoring Archie by her side in their loveless house and life?

The elevator door dinged open and broke her out of her morose thoughts. She stepped through the doors and her gaze immediately found his apartment number. It was only two spots away from the elevator. She pulled her phone from her coat pocket and scrolled to Jug’s contact name.

A smile broke across her face when, as always, he answered on the first ring.

“Hey, you,” Jughead greeted, “I was wondering if I was gonna get to talk to you today.”

“Hi, Juggie,” Betty replied, “What are you doing?”

“Finishing up some work,” he answered, “You?”

“Nothing much. Are you home or –”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “me and Hot Dog.”

Betty knocked on the apartment door.

“Shit, hold on, babe,” he said, his tone more than a little annoyed at the interruption which made Betty grin, “someone’s knocking on the door…and covering the peephole like an asshole.”

The door swung inward and there he was, barefoot, shirt untucked, hair stuck up in every direction. The most beautiful sight ever.

It just fucking figured. Betty hadn’t responded to any of his messages all day – almost to the point where he’d been concerned. So of course, when he finally has the chance to talk to her, somebody turned up at the damned door. He threw open his door with every intention of telling whoever was on the other side to fuck off – but it was Betty.

Betty!

She stood in his hallway, real and warm and beautiful. Her hand was still outstretched from where she’d covered his peephole. The fingers of that same hand curled downward in some semblance of a wave.

“Hi,” she said, her voice small.

The surprise he felt at her sudden and unexpected appearance was significant but he made the split-second decision not to dwell on that; not to waste one second of this unanticipated gift. His cellphone clattered to the floor as, without thought, without apology, and without hesitation, he caught her around the waist, dragged her across the threshold into his apartment and took her mouth with his own.

In the movies, there is always that one scene. That beautifully choreographed scene full of tension and desperation where the two main lovers end up in a frenzied, rushed fit of passion as they violently make love to each other. They stumble around together, frantically tear away each other’s clothes until they finally end up completely naked in bed together – all without breaking their steamy kiss and looking sexy while doing it.

The reality was somewhat different – and a lot less suave.

Betty’s coat sleeve caught on her bracelet and took several ungraceful yanks to remove. She clawed at his shirt, ripped it open, and sent several buttons airborne that pinged as they landed in various areas around the small loft apartment. Jughead’s pants fell to his ankles and he lost his balance as he moved to step backwards toward the bed; at the same time Betty accidentally stepped out of one of her ridiculously tall but sexy stiletto pumps and rolled her ankle. They hit the floor in a tangled heap of arms and legs and half removed clothing. Once the back of his head smacked hard against the hardwood of his floor, Jughead just burst in a deep, uncontrolled laughter. Betty soon joined him, curled against his bare chest and covered her flushed face with one of her hands.

She’d told him once that she felt like she could be silly with him. Thank Christ she’d meant it.

As his laughter calmed, he slid an arm beneath her neck, cradled her to him, brushed a silky strand of golden hair behind her ear, and just looked into those bright green eyes for a few heartbeats. The smile she gave him was soft and full of emotion; full of love. He pulled her toward him and leaned toward her at the same time. This time when he kissed her, it was slower. Gentler. Deeper.

He savored the honey of her mouth.

Her slim fingers slipped into the hair at the back of his neck, scratched up against his scalp, and she pressed her long lean body tighter into his.

He’d dreamt of this moment; the feel of her, the heat of her, the taste of her. She’d been the star of every one of his fantasies for the last six months, pretty much since the moment he’d met her. His latest novel centered on a character based on her, for crying out loud. It was safe to say that she was on his mind, in his thoughts, living rent free in his psyche.

All that fantasy and imagining, and the reality of her was so much fucking better than anything he could ever have dreamt.

With reluctance, he broke from their kiss and helped her to her feet. He wouldn’t make love to his soulmate for the first time on his living room floor. He took her by the hand and led her to the bed, separated from the rest of the loft by a half-wall partition of beveled glass blocks.

“Get,” he said to Hot Dog.

The animal raised his head in a clearly unimpressed look, but leapt from the bed to take position on his second favorite perch, the old leather sofa. 

Jughead became laser focused on the wonder that was Betty Cooper. He refused to focus on the Andrews portion of her name. He knew he’d have to come to it, have to address it later, but he was in love with her. And he needed her in that moment. Everything else was white noise.

He helped her out of the little wet dream of a dress that she was wearing, tossed it over his shoulder, unsure of where the flimsy thing fluttered to the floorboards. He eased her back onto his king-sized mattress as he admired the matching lavender lace that she’d wrapped herself in. Once she was reclined, he stepped back and just… _looked_ at her. Appreciated her in every glorious detail; all golden skin and hair spread across his sheets like a goddess awaiting the worship that was hers by right.

She blushed a little at him as he openly stared at her, propped up on her elbows, and offered him a shy little smirk. “What?” she asked.

He shrugged, “Just admiring the view.”

She held a hand up to him, “Can you admire it from a little closer?”

Jughead crawled onto the bed and knelt between her open legs. He ran his large, warm hands up the outsides of her thighs, over her hips, along the sides of her abdomen and ribs before they hooked her beneath her arms and pulled her into another searing kiss. Betty was almost embarrassed by the tiny whimper that escaped from her throat as he moved to trail kissed down her jawline to her neck. His nipped at her collarbone, dragged his tongue down the valley between her breasts, playfully tugged at the tiny bow of her bra with his teeth. He flashed those teeth at her in a mischievous grin before he continued the path of gently suckling kissed across her belly, swirled his tongue around her navel, then nibbled at the jut of her hipbones.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that, Betts?” he breathed as his thumbs hooked into the sides of her panties.

Betty lifted her hips so he could drag the thin material down her legs, “I love you, Juggie.”

He bit lightly at her ankle, then dragged his open lips up the length of the inside of her leg, just barely touching, a graze. He sucked a littler hard when he reached the fleshy softness of her inner thigh. Then leaned back just slightly to admire her sex. His eyes were so tender, so affectionate. Betty reached a hand down to stroke through his kitten soft hair. He tilted his head and nipped at her fingertips, drew a giggle from her lips.

It felt nice to laugh with a lover.

But laughter was forgotten when he dragged two fingers through her already wet folds, used them to open the lips, then leaned forward and dragged the flat of his tongue across her eager little clit.

On instinct, Betty bucked her hips and Jughead immediately countered by using a forearm to pin her pelvis to the mattress. He tucked the shoulder of his other arm beneath her thigh, as though to get even closer to the apex between her legs as he licked into her.

Then he did exactly what he’d said he would all those weeks ago. He nipped, he licked, he kissed, and he sucked. Not hard. Just a little. Just enough to drive her to the edge without allowing her to topple over.

“Please, Juggie,” she pleaded, “please.”

“Please, what, baby?” he asked in between licks.

Betty tugged on his hair, tried to drag him even deeper into her heat, tried to get the pressure and the friction that her body desperately craved.

“Please let me cum,” she begged.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he chuckled against her and then sucked hard on the little bud and Betty fell completely apart.

It was hard not to be smug after he’d taken Betty apart like that. They way she’d scratched at his scalp, tugged at his hair, clawed at his shoulders; it was an adrenaline rush to say the least. He wanted more.

He crawled up over her body only to have her grab him by the back of the neck and yank him down for a deep, open-mouthed kiss. She reached down between them, palmed him through the material of his boxers.

“I want you inside of me, Juggie,” she gasped against his lips.

He nodded, wiggled out of his underwear. Then, he lifted away from her just the slightest bit, looked down into the oceanic eyes, “Do I need to grab a condom, baby?”

She shook her head, smoothed her hands over his hair, “No, just you.”

He didn’t question her, just guided himself to her entrance and then pushed into her incredible, tight, wet, welcoming heat. He dropped his forehead to the gentle curve where her shoulder met her neck.

“Christ,” he said, “I’m not gonna last, baby.”

“That’s okay, baby,” she replied, wrapped her legs in a pretzel around his hips, “I feel like we’ve had six months of foreplay and right now I just want you to fuck me.”

The sentiment surprised a laugh from deep in his chest. He lifted, braced himself on one forearm, twisted the hand of his free arm into her hair and jerked her head back an angle, exposed the pale column of her throat to his gaze – and did just that.

He pistoned his hips forcefully into hers. He couldn’t help but revel a little in the sound of skin against skin; in the feel of her nails as they dug into his back just beneath his shoulder blades; in the way her breathing had shortened and roughened with effort. He felt the walls of her sex contract around him; squeeze him, milk him. As she came a second time, he grunted his own release along with her.

There are some cultures out there that believed a man’s semen contained traces of his soul. If that were the case, Jughead thought, he’d just given his soul in its entirety to Betty, and he was fucking ecstatic about it.

He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavy and soak through in sweat, his body still in the last throes of his climax. Betty soothed him, stroked her soft little hands over his upper arms and back.

“Am I crushing you?” he asked.

“No,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice, which made him so happy it was probably unhealthy, “I like the weight of you.”

“Do you?”

“Very much.”

“Hmm,” he hummed against the skin of her shoulder, kissed her twice, then rolled to the side so he could look at her.

She turned on her side, angled her body toward him, scooted so practically every inch of them touched. Even as he basked in her closeness, he reached down the foot of the bed and drew the sheets up and over them, cuddled her closer.

Jughead rested his head on his band, braced up on an elbow. “Now that I can think a little straighter,” he said with what he knew to be a cheeky grin, “I’m beyond thrilled to see you but…what are you doing here, baby? What’s going on?”

Betty toyed with his free hand, pressed kissed to his fingertips, “V had a business trip in the city. I hitched a ride.”

Jughead furrowed his brow a little, “Yeah – I remember Reg mentioned something about that. I thought it was canceled.”

“It was for Reggie,” Betty explained, “his dad pulling the same old shit he always does. Suddenly, V had an extra ticket. I volunteered as tribute.”

“Oh, yeah?” he raised an eyebrow, “completely self-sacrificing decision, huh?”

“Well,” she said with her own coy little mischievous smirk as she scooted herself even closer yet, “maybe it wasn’t a totally selfless act.”

“Nu-huh,” he teased, and draped his arm over her hip.

Then, the humor left her eyes and the smile dropped, her face all the sudden serious. Her little pink tongue darted out to wet those gorgeous lips and she batted her eyes up at him. “I need to tell you something, Juggie.”

Without conscious decision to do so, Jughead felt himself brace for impact.

Betty noticed how tense Jug’s body became at her words whereas just a moment before he’d been completely relaxed. His expression took on the kind of wide panicked look of someone awaiting a death blow. She didn’t like the expression on him at all.

She touched a hand to his face, rubbed the pad of her thumb across the apple of his cheek, said, “I, uh, I asked Archie for a divorce.”

His grip on her hip tightened, his beautiful green eyes lit with hop and joy.

“He said no,” she muttered quickly before his excitement could grow further. It was her worst fear, to build his hopes only to crush them down again, “I couldn’t get him to agree no matter what. I even told her there was someone else but he – he just – he won’t –”

Her tears had started to fall at that point. Jughead sat up in the bed, drew her up into a sitting position as well, pulled her into his lap, into his arms. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck and held her tight. Betty wrapped herself around. She took comfort in the welcoming warmth of his strong, lean body.

“Shh,” he shushed, “none of that, now. Whether you know it or not, you’ve started the ball rolling. He knows you want out. That’s a beginning if nothing else.”

“I, God, Juggie, I don’t even know if I have grounds for a divorce.”

“How about what we just did?” he said on a dry, humorless chuckle,” seems like pretty solid grounds to me.”

“Not if Archie won’t agree,” she sniffed, leaned back, buried her hands in the thickness of his hair, stared into his eyes.

Jughead reached up and cupped her jaw in both palms, “Hey, we’re together now. Right now, in this moment, you’re here and with me and that’s more than I was ever expecting to have. We’ll figure it out. I know we will.”

“I don’t wanna go back, Jug,” she confessed, “I wanna be here. I wanna stay with you.”

Betty leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Soft at first, but deeper and deeper as it went on. Soon, they rolling around beneath the sheets again.

When Betty stirred from slumber, she was alone in Jughead’s darkened apartment.

Well, alone with Hot Dog who stared at her from the foot of the bed. When he noticed her eyes were open, he started to wag his tail with furious abandon. Betty giggled and patted the mattress at her side. Hot Dog didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately scooted into her side and allowed her to run her fingers through his thick, shaggy fur. Sweet boy. As she was lovingly petting the mutt, she noticed a note propped up on the bedside table.

_**Gone to get food. Orange duck work for you? Sorry, can’t remember whatever bougie name it actually went by. Maybe I’ll just get kung pao chicken instead. Love you.**_

_**-Jug** _

She looked around. “Looks like it’s just us for a bit, huh, boy,” she said to Hot Dog.

Betty eased her achy body out of the bed, smiled to herself at the tenderness between her legs, snagged the soft cotton gray tee shirt from the back of a chair and pulled it over her head. It was well worn and had a faded ‘S’ on the chest. It smelled like Jug. She slipped her panties back on as she felt a little weird to walk around without underwear and then wandered his apartment. She flipped on the overhead light and smiled.

He was tidy. That was definitely good to know. It wasn’t a front for her either since he hadn’t known she was coming. There were two large floor-to-ceiling bookcases along the length of one wall that overflowed with books and cds and dvds and vinyl. Of course, he owned vinyl records.

He was everything.

His desk was almost exactly as she’d imagined it would be; covered in handwritten notes and scribbled on scraps of paper and post-its. He had an old vintage typewriter as well as a brand-new shiny state of the art laptop. She even found a little sketch that was somewhat cartoonish, but even so she recognized her own likeness.

She loved this man.

She had just picked up a type written page of text when she heard a key turn in the lock. She looked over her shoulder as the door swung open and Jughead entered with brown paper bag that smelled heavenly. He grinned when he saw her, tossed his keys into the chipped porcelain bowl atop a small decorative table that sat by the door.

“Well, hey there, nosey,” he greeted, “read anything good?”

Betty smiled back and waved the paper in her hand through the air, “I like this ‘Lettie’ character. She’s got gumption.”

“Hell, yeah, she does.”

Betty returned the page to the stack on the desk and crossed the living room toward him, “Whatcha got in the bag, Juggie?”

He caught her by the back of the neck and dragger her against him for a kiss before her answered. When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against her and said, “I thought you might need dinner.”

Betty rubbed her nose against his, “Is that Chinese food?”

“Only the best at Chez Jones, baby,” he replied.

It seemed like all too soon he was crawling into a cab to take Betty back to her hotel. She had assured him that she would be fine by herself, but he wouldn’t hear it. He wasn’t going to leave her alone in a city that she didn’t know well after midnight. He not only saw her back to the hotel, but he walked her to her room door and kissed her goodnight…like it had been a proper date and not the clandestine adulterous affair that it really was.

It didn’t feel like an affair. Affair seemed like such a dirty word for what she’d found in Jughead. He was her lover, her mate, her other half. As she eased herself into the hotel room bed that was nowhere near of cozy and warm as Jughead’s had been, she racked her brain to figure out a way to make their relationship not only work, but last forever.

Somewhere around 7:45am, Veronica quietly crept into Betty’s room and bent over her.

“Betty-Boop?” she whispered and brushed her hair back.

Betty blinked into consciousness, “V? What time is it?”

“Not quite 8am. I’m sorry for waking you up but I’m headed out. I wanted to let you know. I’ll be back around two-ish and then we’ll have some much needed girl-time!”

Betty nodded, “Okay, V. Go knock em dead.”

“Oh, honey,” Veronica smiled her sharp, shark smile, “they won’t know what hit them.”

With that, she breezed through the adjoining door and left the suite.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes later Betty was _almost_ back to sleep when there was knock at her door. She groaned into her pillow before she hoisted herself up out of bed. Knowing V, she’d probably taken the liberty of ordering Betty room service breakfast.

But, really, she should have known better.

Jughead stood there, one shoulder braced against the doorjam, another brown paper bag in his hand. He wiggled the bag at her, “Can I interest you in some genuine New York bagels?”

Betty grabbed him by his jacket and jerked him into a kiss as well as the room. Of course, as soon as she kissed him she turned her face away. He chased after her with his mouth.

“Wait!” she protested, “I need to brush my teeth!”

“I really don’t care.”

“I do!” she laughed, “You sit! Give me just a second.”

She padded to the bathroom, left the door open as she dabbed toothpaste on her toothbrush, “You’re here early.”

“Yeah,” Jughead said, kicked off his boots and threw himself onto her bed, “I waited in the lobby till I saw Ronnie head out…then I came up. Thought I might could tempt you with breakfast and a tour of the city. You have the morning free, right?”

Betty nodded. She finished her teeth, then grinned at him. She cocked out a hip and gave him her flirtiest little smile, “Can I interest _you_ in a shower, Jug?”

After a long, hot shower that was really more water sports than actual grooming, Jughead took Betty by the hand and proceeded to lead her around the city that he loved. He wanted her to love it as much as he did. He wanted her to think of it as her home. She wanted to do the tourist things, so he indulged her.

He took her to the Statue of Liberty where she posed for a picture like she was holding it in her hand. He took her to Times Square and bought her a giant bag of pale pink M&Ms from the M&M store. For lunch her took her to a little café in Little Italy.

When they’d finished their meal and she’d told him that should couldn’t possibly eat another bite, he’d pressed her to the outside of the building and held a cannoli to her lips until she took a reluctant bite.

Once she bitten into the creamy confection, her eyes rolled back, and she opened her mouth for another. A small dollop of filling clung to her bottom lips and Jughead leaned into her to kiss and lick it away. He didn’t stop there, migrated to kissing her jaw, then the crook of her neck while Betty laughed at his eagerness. He was enjoying the pure flavor of her skin when the shocked, almost shrill voice interrupted.

“Betty?!?!”

They broke apart and followed the sound of the voice.

Dark brows arched up a smooth, olive forehead, “Jughead!?!?”

The drink carrier of two iced coffees, one of which was probably intended for Betty, that Veronica held slipped from her hand to a splashy explosion on the sidewalk.

Betty stared up at him like a doe caught in headlights and all he could do was toss Veronica a sheepish shrug when he acknowledged, “Hey, Ronnie.”

She stormed toward them without bothering to avoid the sticky puddle of coffee that sloshed beneath her expensive shoes. That struck Jughead as a potentially bad sign, very bad.

“What the hell is going on here?” she demanded.

“Calm down, Ronnie,” Jughead tried and then winced along with Betty, because the last thing one ever wanted to do in the middle of a Veronica Lodge hissy-fit was tell her to ‘calm down.’

“Do NOT tell me to calm down, Torombolo,” she hissed and jabbed a sharp fingernail into the middle of his chest, “I want answers and I want them now!”

“Okay, okay,” Betty placated, “but not in the middle of the street.”

“You didn’t mind doing – whatever it was that you were just doing in the middle of the street!” Veronica snapped.

“Hey!” Jughead cut, “That’s enough. Look, let me replace your coffee. Let find a table in the coffee house, sit down, and _talk_. You know, like the adults we all pretend to be.”

Veronica continued to glare at the two of them, but spun on the heel of her pump and stalked back into the coffee house that she had just emerged from.

Jughead felt a strong surge of reassurance when Betty slipped her small hand into his and squeezed, then continued to hold on as he led her through Veronica’s wake into the coffee shop. 

Jughead left Betty and Veronica at a table in the corner of the room while he went to go get them all a drink. Veronica sat across from her, her arms crossed of her chest and her brow furrowed into a scowl.

“Start talking, Betty-Boop,” Veronica demanded. 

Betty nodded, tried to figure out the best starting point, “Okay…well, remember your engagement party?”

And she explained. Betty told her oldest, dearest friend about how she’d met Jughead and everything had just sort of clicked into place. She confessed the phone calls, the text messages, even the scandalous kiss that had happened at her and Reggie’s wedding reception. At some point during her tale, Jughead had appeared with the coffees and slid into the seat beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder to offer her his silent strength and support. She latched onto that at once, smiled at him, soaked in his soothing presence. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Veronica.

“So…you two have been together since my wedding?” she asked.

Jughead shrugged a single shoulder, “Not…technically.”

“Screw technicality, Jug,” Veronica said, leaned forward across the table, “you’ve been – involved – since my wedding?”

“Yes,” Betty answered truthfully.

“Why am I just now hearing about this?” Veronica asked and her face crumpled in hurt, “You’re my best friend, B. Did you think I would judge you?”

“No!” Betty exclaimed, reached out and took Veronica’s hands in her own, “Of course, not! It was just…it was new and different and I honestly didn’t know what the hell to think for the longest time. It just – happened.”

Jughead nodded, “We honestly didn’t think we’d ever be together again, Ronnie. Why drudge up something that you think can’t happen?”

Veronica took a deep breath and squeeze Betty’s hands back.

“There’s something else I should tell you, V,” she said carefully, “I’m – not going back to Riverdale.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jughead’s gaze snapped to her as well, “What? Really?”

Betty nodded, “I asked Archie for a divorce, V. He refused, but I can’t go back there to him. Not after –” she looked at Jug, “Not after this.”

Veronica emptied the air from her lungs on a long exhale and ran her hands through her hair. “This is why you should have told me so much sooner, Bettykins! I could have resolved this in about two seconds,” she stated and pulled out her cellphone, swiped to a contact, waited for an answer, “Yes, it’s Veronica Lodge. Put Cheryl Blossom on the phone, please.”

She put the phone on speaker and set it on the table top.

A moment later, Cheryl’s voice crackled across the line, “Veronica?”

“Hi Cher-bare,” Veronica said, “I have Betty and Jughead Jones with me and you’re on speaker.”

“Well, well,” Cheryl practically purred, “to what do I owe the pleasure of such a conference?”

“You honey sweet cousin wants to divorce her husband,” Veronica said before Betty could say anything.

“Praise the maple gods, you just made my day,” Cheryle exclaimed, “nay! My entire year. Tell me more.” 

Veronica quirked an eyebrow at the couple so Betty jumped in, “I told Archie that I wanted a divorce – a week ago? Maybe two? I honestly can’t remember the exact timeline. I told him I wasn’t happy. I told him that I’d met someone. He still told me that I couldn’t divorce him.”

“Well, sweet cousin,” Cheryl ticked and the three could her the click-clacking of a keyboard in the background, “that was a huge load of malarky.”

“Really?” Betty asked, “Even though technically speaking, Archie hasn’t done anything to give me grounds for divorce?”

“He can’t _deny_ you a divorce, Betty.” Cheryl, explained, still tapping away, “Ironically, the sheer fact that you want a divorce and he doesn’t, constitutes irreconcilable differences and is in and of itself grounds for a divorce. Where are you now?”

“Um, New York City.”

“Okay,” her red-headed cousin typed away, “I am sending you some files via Docusign. E-sign them immediately. I’ll start the paperwork immediately. Will you be back in Riverdale soon?”

Betty shared a look with Jughead, “I’d rather not.”

“Excellent,” Cheryl approved, “that might make things easier. So, what are we taking the ginger jackass for?”

“What?” Betty exclaimed, “No, Cheryl, no. I don’t want anything.”

“Betty,” Veronica interrupted, “think this through. You sank six years into that company and it is only thriving because of _your_ efforts. You deserve compensation for that.”

“I agree with Ronnie, Betty,” Cheryl said.

Betty squeezed Jughead’s hand. No, she thought, she didn’t want anything from Archie. She just wanted to start her life anew with Jughead by her side. Of course, that would be significantly easier if she came to him with more than just the clothes on her back. “Okay,” she finally said, “all I want are my personal belongings from the house, my car, my personal savings account, and half of our joint personal checking. And to be free of everything.”

“God,” Cheryl chortled, “you’re so sickeningly good sometimes I wonder how we’re related. Okay, is your name on the mortgage?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, we’re asking for everything you just said plus a buyout for your interest in the house,” Cheryl stated in the tone that she used when she was done arguing a point, “that way, if he agrees, it’s the gravy on top and if he fights, we have something to leave on the table that we don’t really care about. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Cheryl snorted, “To you maybe. I’ve never walked away from a divorce with so little. Alright, it’ll take a few days to get everything drawn up and get Archie served. Do you have access to money outside of your checking?”

“I have my savings…”

“Hmm…anything else? It’ll look better to a judge if we don’t touch the assets while we’re negotiating.”

“I can give you loan, B,” Veronica offered.

Jughead shook his and squeezed Betty’s shoulder, “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of anything she might need while everything is getting squared away.”

“Hmm,” Cheryl purred again, “our very own poet Laurent to the rescue.”

“I don’t write poetry.”

“Whatever.”

“Hey, Cheryl?”

“Yes, Forsythe.”

“Call me Jughead.”

“No.”

“Oookaaay – hey, how much is your retainer?”

“You want to put me on retainer?”

“Yeah…”

“Hmm,” she considered, “I’ve never had an author on my books. A top ten best selling one at that. I’ll send you my contract. We can discuss any adjustments. If you have legal representation, fire them. I don’t share. I’ll also need the contact information for your agent, publicist, publisher, any financial advisor you work with, and anyone else that you may have contractual obligations with. I don’t trust documentation until I’ve personally perfused it and _nobody fucks_ with my clients.”

Jughead looked just this side of horrified, “You are frighteningly thorough.”

“I’m good at my job, Mr. Jones,” she said, “my fees are in your inbox.”

“How did you get my ema –”

“Betty!”

“Yes, Cheryl,” Betty replied on instinct, slightly startled to be brought back so abruptly into the conversation.

“The paperwork is in _your_ inbox. E-sign. Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. It’ll be better if you can avoid coming back to Riverdale until the hearing. Archie might try to stall the proceedings, but I won’t let him. It might take a few weeks though. Are you good being away for that length of time?”

She looked again at Jughead who beamed a smile brighter than a solar flare back at her. “Yeah, Cheryl, I’ll be good.”

“Wonderful. Ronnie, I look forward to brunch when you return. Toodles.”

And the line went dead.

For a long moment, the railroaded trio all just stared at the lifeless cellphone, mouths agape they blinked a few times.

“She absolutely terrifies me,” Jughead finally broke the silence.

Veronica smirked and tucked her phone back into her handbag, “Aren’t you glad your hired her, then?”

“I really am.”

“Well!” Veronica clipped out, “as much as I appreciate what you two have been through and your lovely, little happy reunion, I do intend to enjoy some time with my sweet B on her first trip to the Big Apple. You’ll have to leave us, Jug. We’re going shopping. However, would you care to join us for dinner?”

Veronica had been back in Riverdale for a fucking week and Betty hadn’t come back with her, nor was his wife answering her phone. Veronica, too, was dodging his calls, ducking him in the street, and generally refusing to speak with him and avoided him like the plague.

He was beyond pissed. 

He couldn’t find Betty, he couldn’t find his wife. People had started to talk about him! And to top it off, everything had started to fall apart at the office. Clients had called and asked where Betty was. He’d made up a lie, told them she was home sick. The flu. Something. She had a doctor’s visit scheduled. They wished her well and said that they really needed to talk to her when she returned.

He had just stormed into the office trailer where he discovered his Betty’s she-devil of a cousin, Cheryl Blossom and her pint-sized pit-bull of a wife with magenta braids, a black leather jacket, and combat boots awaited him.

“Hello, Archie,” Cheryl greeted, a syrup saccharine smile on her crimson lips.

“Cheryl.”

“You remember mi amore, Toni?” she said, turned to smile at the other woman.

Archie nodded, not sure what was going on.

Toni didn’t say anything. She just crossed over to him, slapped a stack of sealed blue papers against his chest, which he grabbed out of instinct. Then Toni smirked and walked to the door, opened it. Waited.

Cheryl’s smile broadened, “You’ve been served – asshole.”

“What!?!?” Archie bellowed and ripped open the summons that informed him that his wife, one Betty Cooper Andrews, formerly Betty Cooper, had filed for divorce. 

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...who wants an epilogue???
> 
> Okay! Tell me what you thought! Please, please, please! Like any author, I crave your feedback. It is like air. Like water. Like CHOCOLATE! 
> 
> Leave a comment! Leave kudos! Tell me your thoughts on all of the happenings and if you want that epilogue! 
> 
> Kisses to all! Bye, now!!!

**Author's Note:**

> I know!!! What a place to leave it!!! How will Juggie react? Are you rooting for these two kids? Do you want them to be together and make babies??? What do you think of Archie? 
> 
> Tell me how you feel! Leave a comment, leave a kudos, tell me your thoughts and reactions? Part two up in a few days! Promise! Just needs polishing. 
> 
> Kisses to all! Bye, now!


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